


Some Things Ain't For Sale

by RedZipBoots



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:48:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24473032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedZipBoots/pseuds/RedZipBoots
Summary: Low on money while traveling through Texas, Heyes and Curry find work in a general store.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

Spring 1872

The chink of spurs contrasted sharply with the hollow thud of boot heels on the boardwalk. Long legs stepped down off the faded boards at the very same moment that the first rays of the sun appeared above the horizon and turned the silver band around the crown of his hat a rosy pink. He reached up and carefully tilted the brim low over his eyes. The chill air of the early spring morning found its way through his shirt sleeves to tingle against the skin beneath but he didn't regret his decision not to wear a coat. He didn't want anything to slow him down. Coming to a halt in the middle of the street he placed his feet comfortably apart, hooked his thumbs over his gun belt and waited. 

Lace curtains twitched here and there as numerous pairs of eyes watched the action unfold. A long minute passed.

Clad in a black, well-tailored, long-coated suit, a white shirt with an emerald green brocade vest and sporting a wide brimmed black hat, Parker Stiles emerged from the front door of the Cedar Creek Saloon a few blocks down accompanied by two men who took up places either side of the door. Stiles strode confidently onto the dew dampened street and turned to face the waiting man, easing his coat clear of the ivory-handled six-gun as he did so.

Slowly, they walked toward each other stopping some thirty feet apart.

"I hope those clothes you're wearing are fit to be buried in, boy," Stiles said, his voice loud and true in the silent street. "Unless you want to apologise. I might accept — if you do it right."

A pair of striking blue eyes fixed unblinking on the older man's face as the memory of last night flashed through his mind. He had come to the girl's defence then and was prepared to back it up now. 

"I'm done talkin'," he replied levelly, feeling much calmer than he thought he would. Finger by finger, he pulled the glove off his right hand and stuffed it in his vest pocket. 

Stiles smirked. "It's your funeral."

An eerie, almost unnatural stillness enveloped the two men until the slightest of movements provoked the younger man into action. In one fluid motion, almost quicker than the eye could see, he drew and fired a single shot.

Stiles' right hand, the one that had barely had time to grip his pistol, now clutched at a hole in the expensive brocade vest. Mouth agape, he stared wide-eyed at the smoking gun in the young man's hand before staggering backwards to collapse, unmoving, on the ground. 

Having heard the shot a young, dark-haired man cautiously peered around the corner of an alley where he had been waiting nervously, holding the long reins of two skittish horses. He glanced at the fallen man. 

"Jed, c'mon! Let's go!" he urged as the two men who had been standing by the saloon door drew their guns and ran toward the body. 

The young man dropped his revolver back into its holster and fled. A bullet whizzed past him. It didn't miss by much — he felt the air move next to his ear. Another splintered the wood of the building by his head as he darted around the corner of the alley and vaulted onto his waiting mount. Then, before any more shots could follow he kicked his horse into a gallop and sped out of town, closely followed by his dark-haired friend.

They rode hard, staying on the road for a short time then, in the hope of covering their tracks, forded a river, wove their way through a small wood and climbed a rocky slope to higher ground. Once they felt it was safe to do so they pulled their sweating mounts to a halt and sat leaning on their saddle horns while carefully surveying the surrounding area.

Nineteen year old Hannibal Heyes pushed his hat to the back of his head and addressed his cousin, two years his junior, his voice somehow making him sound both anxious and exhilarated at the same time. "You killed him then?" 

Jedediah 'Kid' Curry's reply was not quite what he expected. 

"Maybe," he mumbled, his still bare right hand absently pulling at a loose thread sticking out of his left glove.

"Maybe! Didn't you look?"

Honest blue eyes looked up at his cousin. "There wasn't time." 

"He was lying awful still."

"Then I guess I musta killed him. He reached for his gun and...." Jed frowned, suddenly uncertain. "Well, I _think_ he reached."

"You only _think!_ Jeez, Jed! I didn't see the sheriff but, that don't mean he wasn't watching. If _you_ drew first that means—"

 _"I know what it means, dammit!"_

Squeezing his eyes shut Jed took a slow, deep breath. He hadn't meant to yell at Heyes. None of this was his fault. He had got into the situation all by himself and certainly had no intention of burdening his cousin with the mixture of emotions that were now trying to choke him. He cleared his throat. 

"It ain't the same as shootin' cans on a log, y' know. I had to beat him to the draw. I couldn't take the chance he'd get a shot off." Jed looked down at his hands again. "D' ya think the sheriff will round up a posse and come after me?"

Heyes nodded sagely. "That is a possibility." An alarming thought then occurred to him. "Hey, you didn't tell anyone your name, did you?" 

"Only Jed. Not the Curry part."

"Well, they can't rightly put a price on your head if they don't have a name." Trying to lighten the mood but without thinking it through, Heyes leaned over to punch his cousin playfully on the shoulder. "Hey! You could be famous! I can see the flyer... _Jed Curry, Fastest Gun in the West. Wanted for Mur—_ " He hastily swallowed the rest of the word.

Summer 1883

Two horses plodded wearily down the main street of Pardew, Texas, the sound of their iron-clad hooves resonating off the adjacent buildings through the hot, still air. The ground was hard and dry; so dry in fact, that it seemed as if most of the dust had been blown away and the town was now sitting directly on bedrock.

Feeling as parched as the ground beneath their feet the riders hitched their horses to a rail adjacent to a water trough and made straight for the nearest saloon. The very second two brimming glasses of beer were placed on the bar they grasped them, closed their eyes in anticipated ecstasy, and didn't stop drinking until they were empty. The ten-day ride from Fort Mills had been long and hard, culminating in the fording of the Pecos River at the legendary Horsehead Crossing. 

Hannibal Heyes exhaled loudly. "I swear that beer was all I could think about for the last ten miles." 

"Make that twenty," Kid Curry corrected, wiping a layer of froth from his upper lip with his thumb. "Want another?" 

"You need to ask?" grinned Heyes. "Sure, I do. Barkeep!" He tapped the bar. "Two more, right here if you please."

By early evening they had consumed several more beers plus a nourishing bowl of stew and were both feeling more like their old selves. 

"I don't know about you, Kid," Heyes addressed his friend quietly as he slouched happily in his seat and stretched his legs under the table, "But I sure don't want to get back into that saddle anytime soon. Lom won't be seeing the Governor until the end of next month; I reckon we have time to stick around here for a week or two."

"That's a great idea, Heyes, but you're forgettin' somethin'."

"I am?"

"We haven't been paid even half of what we're owed for that delivery job. The army is wiring the rest of the money to Lom which means we won't see a dime of it 'til we get back to Porterville."

Heyes grimaced. "Hmm, we've gotta stop agreeing to that kind of arrangement; we always seem to get sold short on the first payment and end up flat broke." Resting his chin in his hand he quickly considered their options. "I still say we should see what this town has to offer. Get a cheap room. Play some poker. Maybe even pick up a little work." He couldn't help but smile at Curry's concerned frown. "I know, I know, nothing too hard on the back!"

"Well, that'll be nothing short of a miracle. Have you been ridin' around with your eyes closed?" 

Hannibal Heyes regarded his partner quizzically while he waited for an explanation. 

Curry duly obliged. "There's gotta be nothin' between here and the Rio Grande 'cept ranches and y' know what that means, don'tcha? It means cattle or it means horses, neither of which we favour workin' with." 

"Something will turn up." Heyes inclined his head toward the barman. "Let's ask Frank; he seems to know everything that goes on around here." 

While enjoying their second and third beers they had discovered Frank to be a veritable mine of local information. He knew everything from the age of the bank manager's mother to the type of feed favoured by the parson's mule. More importantly, he knew who to best avoid if you wanted to stay out of trouble which, to Heyes and Curry, usually meant the law. In response to Heyes' casual enquiry, Frank had informed them that the sheriff's name was Sherman Levine and that he was a happily married man with three sons. Hearing this the two former outlaws had exchanged a satisfied glance; they didn't know a Sheriff Levine. Not having robbed a bank or railroad this far south they hadn't really expected to. However, that wouldn't prevent their wanted posters from being displayed prominently; the ten thousand dollar reward on each of their heads saw to that. 

"Hey Frank!" called Heyes, "You don't happen to know of any work hereabouts, do you?" 

The barkeeper didn't look up from the glass he was polishing. "Town notice board. Everythin' gets pinned right there. Best be quick if'n you don't want ranch work. Anythin' else gets snapped up real quick."

"Can't imagine why," muttered the Kid, dourly. 

"Where do we find this board?" asked Heyes.

"Can't miss it. It's on the wall right outside the sheriff's office."

Blue eyes rolled. "I mighta known."

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

For the next couple of days Heyes and Curry spent their time catching up on their sleep in the clean, inexpensive boarding house that Frank had recommended, eating three square meals, and playing poker in the saloon. The third morning found them once again replete and well-rested, and strolling toward the livery stable with the intention of giving their horses a little exercise.

"Y' know, Kid, I've been thinking," said Heyes. 

"Oh no. Why do I get the feelin' I ain't gonna like this?"

Ignoring his cousin's negative response, Heyes continued. "The poker players in this town are good, a little _too_ good to fool with when you don't have a lot of money to throw around and, as much as I hate to admit it, I can't see myself doing any better than breaking even. So, what do you say we get ourselves a job?" 

"Aaww now, Heyes."

"You want to keep eating, don't you?"

"We _are_ eatin'. At the boarding house."

"And drinking?"

The Kid's face took on a pained expression. "Yeah, but that means we gotta go near the sheriff's office." 

Heyes pushed his hat to the back of his head, turned to face his partner and carried on talking while walking backwards. "I figured that's what you'd say, so I came up with a plan. We'll both walk over nice and easy, and when we get there I'll stand to one side, just outta sight, while you take a good look at that board. That way, when you get arrested and slung in jail, I can give the lawman the slip, high-tail it outta town and start working on another plan to bust you out."

Not having missed the mischievous twinkle in his partner's eyes, Curry narrowed his own. "You're real funny, Heyes."

With a chuckle Heyes slapped his reluctant partner on the back and steered him toward the sheriff's office. 

The notice board was large and filled the whole of the space between the door and the window. Both men gave the wanted posters on display a cursory glance and were relieved that theirs didn't appear to be among them. Breathing a little more easily they took their time perusing the numerous town notices and hand written slips of paper. All those advertising work were for local ranches.

Kid sighed despondently. "See, just like I told ya. Nothin' but ranch work."

He turned to walk away when Heyes tapped him on the arm having spotted a small piece of paper partially covered by a church notice. Initially, it was the writing that had caught his attention. It was neat — a woman's hand, he assumed. He pulled it free from its pin. 

"Look at this, Ki—" Snapping his mouth shut, Heyes winced. He had almost let Curry's name slip at the very moment the office door opened and a large man wearing an equally large ten-gallon hat stepped onto the boardwalk.

"Mornin', boys," the man greeted them affably. "You new in town?"

"That's right, Sheriff." Heyes stopped himself from shuddering at the word inscribed on the star pinned to the man's shirt. He forced a smile. "We're looking for a little work. Nothing permanent." 

"Or dishonest," added Curry, helpfully.

Heyes flicked a sideways glance at his cousin but kept on smiling. "Just something to help us get a stake, then we'll be moving on."

"Whatcha got there?" asked Sheriff Levine, nodding toward Heyes' hand.

"Oh, this? I pulled it off the board here." Heyes held out the piece of paper so the lawman could see.

"Huh, looks like Miss Mead's hirin' again. I guess them last two fellas didn't stick around."

The Kid had yet to read the note so he cast a concerned look at Heyes before asking, "Any idea why that would that be, Sheriff?"

Sheriff Levine removed his hat and scratched his balding head. "Can't rightly say. Maybe they was the sort who don't take to workin' for a woman."

"That won't bother us." Heyes stuffed the note into his shirt pocket. "Well, I guess we'd best be getting on over there. Nice talking to you, Sheriff."

"Good luck, Mister...?"

"Smith."

"And Jones." 

Politely tipping their hats they bade farewell to the sheriff and walked away as quickly as possible, but not so fast as to arouse suspicion.

Kid Curry dipped the brim of his hat to glance furtively over his shoulder and was relieved to see the lawman sauntering down the boardwalk in the opposite direction. He pulled his partner to a halt. "Okay, Heyes, are you gonna tell me what's on that piece of paper?"

Without a word Heyes handed it over and, suppressing a smile, watched the Kid. It always amused him how his cousin's lips moved a little as he read, a childhood habit he did not seem able to break. The more he read, the more the Kid's brow began to furrow. At last he looked up. "Do you think she's lookin' for hired hands, or hired guns?"

"Hmm, it was the bit about firearms that made me wonder too."

"Maybe that's what scared off those other two fellas."

Hannibal Heyes shrugged. "It's probably like that job I took guiding those archy-ologists into Devil's Hole country. They wanted someone who could shoot straight _in case_ there was trouble."

"Uh-huh." Curry didn't look convinced. "Well, I hope you're right, Heyes, 'cause there's one thing that sure ain't for sale, and that's my gun."


	2. Chapter 2

Smiling sweetly at a passer-by, the young woman added a jar of green-striped peppermint canes to the extensive selection of candy already on display in the large window of Mead's Mercantile and Luxury Goods Emporium. She stood back to admire her handiwork before once more straightening each jar in turn, ensuring that the labels were all facing forward. To her, display was very important, especially if you wished to make the limited range and quality of goods available in this part of the country appear better than they actually were.

A thud behind her made her turn to see a youth clad in a long, flour dusted apron flexing his back. 

"Willard, haven't I told you not to drop the sacks like that? Look, there's flour all over the floor now. Sweep it up, please." She scooted him away with a frustrated sigh and a wave of her hand. 

"Yes, Miss Mead." Willard trudged off to find a broom.

Twenty-four year old Viola Mead had stepped down from the stagecoach onto a muddy Pardew street in the winter of 1881, a single woman with very little money to her name. One week earlier, back in her home town of Boston, she had been looking forward to the wedding of her dreams. Her engagement to the youngest son of a prominent businessman and owner of several large general stores was the talk of Boston society, not only because she was working as a saleswoman in one, but because his reputation didn't seem to fit with her plain looks (a pair of large blue eyes being the exception) and straight-laced disposition. It had taken some time but, having eventually accepted the rumours regarding his excessive drinking and constant dalliances with saloon girls to be true, she had hastily packed as many of her worldly goods as she could into two large carpet bags and boarded the first train heading out of the city. With no particular destination in mind the journey had been a little haphazard, but she hadn't stopped until she had travelled as far south as she could without leaving American soil.

Her intention had been to obtain a teaching position at a local school but finding there was none available she took the only job she could find — a waitress in a small cafe — which provided just enough money to pay her room and board for the first few months. It was in this cafe that she made the acquaintance of Emmanuel Starks, the owner of a small general store on Main Street. Emmanuel was a confirmed bachelor who had no ties in town apart from his shop. Still relatively young, tales of the Wild West had whetted his appetite for adventure and he longed to try and make his fortune in what remained of the California goldfields. There was only one thing stopping him; he couldn't find a buyer for his business.

Seeing the opportunity to be self-sufficient Viola used every ounce of her business acumen along with a good helping of feminine wiles to persuade the manager of the Cattleman's Bank of Pardew to grant her a loan in order to buy the business. This put her under considerable pressure to make it a success, but she was an intelligent woman with an eye for detail and, once established, she set about expanding the range of goods for sale so that it was not long before the amount of stock began to outgrow the size of the store. Having obtained a further loan from the bank she then negotiated the purchase of the empty plat next door and committed a large amount of her hard-earned profit into extending the premises. She also refurbished the upstairs accommodations even going so far as to ship a water closet from back east which she had installed downstairs next to the kitchen. 

Financially, the expansion was beginning to pay off. Many of the town's inhabitants, along with people from nearby ranches, frequented the store on an almost daily basis. 

The increase in floor space had also resulted in the employment of young Willard Whipple and, although the lad didn't always display a great deal of common sense, he was a punctual and willing worker. It had not been her intention to take on anyone else, the business couldn't afford it, but the very second it became apparent that her livelihood was at risk, she had been quick to advertise for someone with the necessary skills to help. The two drifters who had turned up on her doorstep a couple of weeks ago had appeared to fit the bill nicely, but unfortunately had left town before they could even start.

The tinkle of the bell attached to the front door pulled Viola's attention away from Willard's shortcomings. Tucking an imaginary lock of dark hair into her neatly braided bun and smoothing the front of her white apron with perfectly manicured fingers she stepped behind the counter before turning to welcome the prospective customer. 

Once over the threshold Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry looked around in almost child-like wonderment. They had not been in a store on this scale in quite some time and certainly not in any town smaller than Denver or Cheyenne. Everything they could possibly imagine seemed to be for sale. There was an extensive selection of men's and women's clothing including hats and shoes. Bolts of cloth were stacked neatly in one corner beside a cabinet comprising of small drawers full of sewing notions and reels of coloured ribbons. Essential items such as lanterns, rope, and a variety of tools hung from hooks in the ceiling while crockery and pots and pans were displayed imaginatively on a long counter. All manner of foodstuffs lined the walls on shelves reaching from floor to ceiling and, despite the presence of a druggist next door, there was even a small section catering for medicines and elixirs.

"Good morning, gentlemen." Viola's business-like smile almost faltered as she watched two pairs of boots walk a trail of floury footprints across the floor. 

"Mornin', ma'am. We'd like to speak to..." Oblivious to the irritation they were causing Heyes pushed his hat to the back of his head as he consulted the piece of paper. "...Miss Mead, please."

"I am Miss Mead. How may I help you?" 

"My name is Joshua Smith and this is my partner, Thaddeus Jones. We're here to apply for the job, if it's still available." 

"And once we know what it's doin' — exactly," added Curry, nonchalantly leaning an elbow on the highly polished counter. A pointed look from Viola had him quickly remove it. 

"I see. Well, it's very simple. I need someone to guard the store, round the clock. Ideally, the job is for two people so they can take turns sleeping and..."

"Guard the store, ma'am?" Curry frowned. In his experience, banks needed guards but never a general store. He had also heard the words 'round the clock'. He hated working at night; his body never seemed to adjust to it.

"That is correct."

"I can see you have a lot of goods for sale," Heyes indicated the shop with a sweeping gesture, "but this little town don't seem the sort to have a problem with thievin'; not enough to need two people to guard a store, anyways." 

"It has nothing to do with my stock," Viola answered a little tersely, before turning her attention back to the blond whose arms were now folded across his chest. "Are you any good with that gun, Mister Jones?"

Slightly taken aback by the sudden question, the Kid answered "Uh, yeah", then elaborated. "I usually hit what I aim at."

She looked at Heyes. "And you, Mister Smith?" 

Following his cousin's example of playing down his ability, the former outlaw leader replied, "Pretty good, I'd say. Wouldn't you, Mister Jones?"

Curry shrugged dismissively. "Passable."

Despite his cousin frequently debunking his ability with a gun, Heyes knew it wasn't meant to be taken seriously. He was more than capable; after all, you didn't hang around with the likes of Kid Curry without picking up a few tips. 

Resisting the urge to give the Kid his customary indignant look, he asked, "So, why do you need guards, ma'am?" 

Viola sighed. The drifters she had hired the other week had taken the job without too much explanation on her part and she had lost them pretty quickly. She should probably be a little more forthcoming or these two might leave just as fast. 

As if on cue, a tall lanky lad appeared from the back room carrying a broom. "Willard, please watch the store. Call me if it gets busy," said Viola. "We should discuss this further, gentlemen. In private." 

They followed Viola down a short hallway to a door behind which was a small room lit only by a window set high in the wall and where most of the floor space was occupied by a large mahogany desk, piled high with paperwork and a number of leather-bound ledgers. 

"Please, sit down." She indicated a couple of wooden chairs before lighting a lamp and taking her place behind the desk. 

"You were about to tell us what needs protecting," prompted Heyes.

Noting that she now appeared a little edgy the Kid leaned forward to ask gently, "Are you in some kinda trouble, ma'am?"

Heyes dearly hoped that she wasn't. 

"Yes, Mister Jones, unfortunately I am."

Inwardly, Heyes groaned. "Well ma'am, we're not looking for any trouble so I don't think we'd be interested in a job that comes with some already attached." He stood. "Let's go, Thaddeus."

Curry stayed firmly in his chair. "Hold on a minute, Joshua. Least we can do is hear the lady out. It may not be as bad as she thinks."

Pushing his tongue into his cheek Heyes reluctantly returned to his seat. Even though, not ten minutes earlier, his partner had been adamant that his gun was not for sale he knew the Kid wasn't going to budge until he had heard the lady's story. Kid Curry was a sucker when it came to needy folk, especially when they were of the female variety. As far as Heyes was concerned, helping somebody out with a dollar or two or a meal from time to time was fine, so long as it didn't lead to any trouble. Almost two years had passed since they had taken the first step toward obtaining an amnesty and, according to Lom, the Governor of Wyoming appeared to be on the brink of actually granting it. The last thing they needed was for anything to jeopardize that now. 

"Okay," he said through a barely suppressed sigh. "Tell us about the job."

"It is difficult to know where to start." Viola paused, then appearing to have arranged things in her own mind, she began. "Let me start by telling you that I own this store and I run it by myself. Very successfully, I might add. There have been few problems that I couldn't deal with until George Kincaid — a man of considerable influence here in Pardew — informed me that I don't own the land it stands on. _He_ does. He then offered to buy my store and its stock for a fraction of its worth. Needless to say, I turned him down." 

"What does he want the land for?" asked Heyes.

"He has promised it to the Texas and Pacific Railroad so that they can establish a depot here, right in the middle of the town. While I cannot deny that a railroad depot would be very beneficial, I owe a great deal of money to the bank so I can't afford to sell at a loss, or lose my livelihood."

"Where do we come in?" 

"Because I have refused to sell to him, Mister Kincaid is threatening to take possession any way he can; by force, if necessary. It seems he isn't used to people saying 'no' to him. So you see, gentlemen, I need someone who can protect it for me."

"Ma'am, if somebody's threatening you, you need to talk to the sheriff, not hire guns," recommended Curry.

"Oh, I have, Mister Jones, but Sheriff Levine said Mister Kincaid would have to be caught breaking the law. Now I have no proof, but I do suspect Mister Kincaid may have... how shall I put it?... some influence with the sheriff."

"How 'bout a lawyer?"

"Pardew doesn't have one. I am trying to bring in someone from out of state, but so far there have not been any replies to my letters. I am afraid it may take longer than Mister Kincaid is prepared to wait."

"And how long is that?" Heyes demanded, his tone harsher than he intended. He was keen to return to Porterville in two week's time, collect their pay and find out from Lom exactly where they stood with the Governor.

"I'm not really sure. Look, I can provide you with a bed here on the premises, food too, and I will pay twenty-five dollars a week which I think is—."

"That's twenty-five dollars a week, apiece?" interrupted Curry.

"Yes, Mister Jones." Viola's gaze was very direct. "I think that's a fair wage, don't you?" 

The Kid nodded quickly. "Why yes, ma'am."

With a forced smile, Heyes got to his feet and took a firm grip of his partner's arm almost jerking him out of his seat. "If you will excuse us, ma'am. We need to talk this over. C'mon Thaddeus."

"The store closes at seven," called Miss Mead as Heyes pulled the office door shut behind them.

"What's the matter with you?" Curry demanded hotly, once they were outside on the boardwalk. "It ain't like you to be rude to a lady."

Heyes kept walking toward the livery stable. "Not here," he replied tersely.

Without another word they saddled up and rode out of town.

The silence continued for the next half hour until eventually the Kid gave up trying to contain his mounting irritation. He couldn't understand what Heyes was all proddy about. After all, it was his idea that they look for work. 

"Okay Heyes, I get it. You don't want to help the lady." 

"I didn't say a word."

"No, but you're gonna."

Heyes' brown eyes flashed. "Damn straight, I'm gonna. Were you listening to what she was saying or were you too busy staring at those big ol' eyes of hers?"

"Sure, I heard her. And, for your information, I didn't notice her eyes."

Heyes looked skyward with a loud, cynical laugh. "I don't believe that for a moment!"

"What? You think I wasn't listenin'?"

"No. I can't believe you didn't notice her pretty blue eyes."

"Sounds to me like _you_ sure did." 

Heyes frowned, but he didn't deny it.

"Look Heyes, it don't matter what colour her eyes are, the lady is still in trouble."

"That may be so," Heyes agreed. "But trouble is something we've been trying to stay away from for the past two years. If we go getting mixed up in whatever is going on with her and this Kincaid fella, our amnesty could be at risk, 'specially if he's got the sheriff in his pocket. And as for getting involved with anything to do with the railroad... Anyway, only this morning you were telling me you don't hire out your gun."

"Yeah, and _you_ was tellin' me we need to get a job!"

Heyes flung his arms wide, startling his mount. "Not a job like that!"

Curry calmly pulled his own horse to a halt. "Aaww, c'mon, Heyes. Kincaid will force her out. We've come across his kind before. She owes the bank too, and we know what banks are like — taking hard-workin' folks' last dimes without a thought for how they're gonna feed their families. Ain't that one of the reasons we started robbin' 'em? Now, a young lady like her, if she ends up alone and down on her luck, she's only got one place to go and you can't tell me you don't know where that is."

Heyes' shoulders sagged. "I know," he said, flatly.

"How many gals do you figure we've run into, workin' in saloons and cat houses, with a story like that?"

"Too many."

"So?" The earnest expression on Curry's boyish face was all it took for Heyes to hold his hands up in mock surrender.

"Okay, okay, we'll take the job. I don't want her to end up in one of those places either." But, as he watched a self-satisfied smile creep across the same face, Heyes added, "We'll give it two weeks, and two weeks only. If it ain't sorted by then, and by some miracle we don't find ourselves in jail, then we make our apologies and head on up to Porterville like we planned. Right?"

"Right."


	3. Chapter 3

The following morning Heyes and Curry somewhat reluctantly checked out of their comfortable boarding house and carried their saddle bags and bed rolls the short distance down the street to Mead's Mercantile and Luxury Goods Emporium. Willard, who was outside cleaning the store windows, flashed a toothy grin as they approached. 

Heyes grinned back. "Hi, is Miss Mead about?"

"Y'all the fellas what's gonna work for her?"

"Yep." 

"She's bin 'spectin' ya since early this mornin'. Bin over to see the sheriff 'bout y'all too."

Faster than his partner's smile could fade the Kid had already scanned the street, estimating how long it would take them to sprint to the livery stable, saddle their horses, and find a clear exit out of town.

"Oh, really? Why was that?" Heyes asked, nonchalantly.

"To arranged yer..." Willard paused and screwed up his eyes while he tried to remember the exact word his employer had used. "A-comm-o-dations. Yeah, that's what she sayed."

"Is she over there right now?" 

"Naw, she's out back, in the office. Sayed for me to tell y'all to go straight on through."

With only the smallest of hesitations Heyes pushed open the shop door. The bell above their heads tinkled and both men wondered if it was their imagination or did it sound so much louder today than it had the previous afternoon? Almost as if it was announcing their arrival over in the sheriff's office too. 

"Not sure I like this," Curry murmured, checking behind them once more. 

Heyes raised a quizzical eyebrow and didn't make any attempt to keep the sarcasm from his voice. "What's the matter, Kid; don't you want to help the lady no more?" 

"Sure I do. Just wish I knew why she's been to see the sheriff, is all."

As they crossed the shop floor Heyes gave the Kid's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Relax. It's probably nothing. We'd have seen it in her face if she'd recognized us. Besides, if she was gonna turn us in for the reward, she'd have done it last night, not waited 'til this morning."

Curry nodded. "You're right. Guess I'm just a little jumpy this mornin'."

A faint cry of 'come in' answered Heyes' knock and as the office door swung open Viola Mead turned, a small Derringer pistol in her hand. Both men dropped their saddlebags at their feet and while Heyes slowly put his hands in the air Curry's revolver virtually leapt into his hand. 

"Put the gun down, ma'am... real easy." 

Being sure to not make any sudden moves Viola carefully placed the pocket pistol on the desk beside her. "I-I didn't mean to p-point it at you. I-I was about t-to check that it was loaded," she stammered as the Kid strode purposefully across the room to pick it up. 

"We're here to handle the guns, ma'am." He flipped up the twin barrels and shook the two stubby shells out into his palm for safety. If Miss Mead was not used to handling a gun he certainly didn't want her to shoot someone, especially him or Heyes, by mistake.

"Thaddeus, I think you've gone and scared the lady." Heyes noticed that most of the colour appeared to have drained from Viola's face. "Maybe you should sit down." 

"Now that you mention it, I do feel a little light-headed."

Taking her hand he helped her to a chair. "Can I get you anything?"

"No thank you, Mister Smith." Viola smiled weakly as the room continued to swing back and forth. She was not entirely sure what had caused the sudden giddiness and her heart to beat fit to burst. It could have been the shock of having a gun drawn on her at such speed by Mister Jones, or even that she may have come close to shooting one of her new employees by accident. But, if she was truthful, it was most likely finding herself the subject of concerned brown eyes and a gentle touch as she was escorted to a chair. The skin of Joshua Smith's hand was surprisingly smooth, not how she would have expected it to feel for someone who probably spent a great deal of time on horseback or doing manual work. 

Little did she know, but for much of his adult life Heyes had made sure to protect his hands against developing any rough skin or calluses. Whether it was to enable him to "feel" the minute vibrations of the tumblers of a safe, or smoothly handle a deck of cards with enough sensitivity to tell if it was a single card short, he wore gloves almost constantly.

Since the day she had arrived in Pardew Viola had made a point of steering clear of men. She had kept very much to herself, apart from the occasional church social, devoting all her time to setting up the business. That hadn't stopped a couple of the town's most eligible bachelors from attempting to court her but, having been hurt so badly by her unfaithful fiancé, she had made it clear that, no matter how handsome, they were wasting their time. In her limited experience romance only brought heartache. 

Despite being a little taken aback by her own reaction to Mister Smith it didn't take long for Viola to regain her composure and, once again, focus on the day's tasks. "I must say, gentlemen, I was expecting you both here a little earlier on your first day." She looked from one man to the other. "Did something delay you?" 

"Breakfast, ma'am," explained Curry. 

"I see. Well, now that you _are_ here, you need to come with me to the sheriff's office."

At the mere mention of the law the former outlaws' backs stiffened, but Heyes still managed to find his most charming smile.

"I guess we didn't realize being late was a criminal offence in these parts," he said. 

Viola couldn't help but laugh. "Of course it isn't. You may recall me saying that I would provide accommodation for the term of your employment. Unfortunately, I don't have any cots in stock right now, so this morning I paid Sheriff Levine a visit to enquire about borrowing one from his jail. All that needs to be done is for you to carry it across the street for me."

Heyes threw an I-told-you-there-was-nothing-to-worry-about look toward his still frowning partner. 

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

As the front door to the jailhouse opened Sheriff Levine groaned under his breath. It was Miss Mead — again. She had been over to see him once this morning already, almost the minute the sun was up and before he had even had a chance to start a pot of coffee on the stove, wanting to discuss the loan of a cot. If that wasn't bad enough she had insisted he open each empty cell in turn and had proceeded to inspect every thin mattress and pillow, declaring them dirty and vermin infested and not fit for a dog to sleep on. It was right about then that he began to see why George Kincaid might find her to be difficult to deal with when it came to his business with the railroad.

"I'm back, Sheriff."

"Yes, ma'am, I can see that." Levine slowly lowered his feet to the floor from where they rested comfortably on his desk.

"And I've brought help." Viola leaned back through the open doorway and beckoned to the two men who irritatingly had dragged their heels behind her all the way from the store. "Sheriff, this is Mister—"

"Yeah, yeah. Smith and Jones. We've already met."

They both nodded, politely. 

"I s'ppose you've decided on one of them cots back there." The sheriff yawned, grabbed a large ring of keys from a hook behind his chair and, with Viola following, ambled down the passageway between the cages.

The minute his back was turned Heyes and Curry’s heads whipped around to glance at each of the four walls and, yes, there they were, two large wanted posters boldly declaring a ten-thousand dollar reward each for Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry, dead or alive. 

Not wanting the lawman to have an opportunity to look them over while they stood within reading distance of their descriptions, Heyes urged under his breath, "We need to make this quick." 

"Very quick," agreed Curry.

Iron keys jangled, sending a cold shiver through the two former-outlaws as the sheriff unlocked the door of the furthest cell. Viola stepped inside, her nose wrinkling in disgust as she once again considered the jailhouse cot. 

"It's so filthy!"

"They're always like that, ma'am," remarked Curry. Then, sensing a pair of brown eyes burning a hole in the back of his head, he added quickly, "Uh, so I hear."

"Ugh! It could bring vermin with it and infest my store."

"I have a suggestion," Heyes ventured. "How about we only take the frame? So long as the ropes are strung good and tight it'll be comfortable enough."

Viola tapped her chin thoughtfully with her index finger. "I suppose we could. But there is still the matter of a mattress and bedclothes. I was hoping I wouldn't have to use any of my stock. People don't like to pay very much for goods that have been used."

"Well, we have our bedrolls. We could put them together and use them for a mattress. Then we'll only need a pillow and a blanket." Heyes' expression at this solution could only be described as self-congratulatory and before Viola could voice any further concerns he had tossed the grubby bedding to the floor and was gesturing to the Kid. "Grab that end, Thaddeus. We'll take this one."

After a little careful manoeuvring, only one or two grazed knuckles, and several stifled curses because there was a lady present, they successfully removed the iron-framed cot from the cell and carried it along the street to the store. 

They then spent some considerable time rearranging the office so that the cot would fit. Piles of paperwork had to be removed, together with several large ledgers, from the desk to a table in Viola's sitting room upstairs, being very careful not to disturb the order they were in. When eventually everything was organized so that there was just enough room to move about within the small space and not bump into any furniture, especially in the dark, they set about devising a mattress. It had been such a disappointment for Curry to have to move out of the boarding house, thereby giving up his soft, comfortable bed, that he insisted on testing each combination of bedrolls and blankets until he deemed one was adequate for the two week stay. 

Throughout the morning, the temperature outside had risen along with the sun but it was the level of humidity, unusual for this part of Texas, that was making the room even more uncomfortable and both men found themselves perspiring freely. 

"Sure is gonna be hot sleeping in here during the day," grumbled Heyes, wiping the sleeve of his blue shirt across his forehead. The room felt unpleasantly stuffy now but, with the door closed during trading hours, it would be more like an oven. 

Curry sank down on the cot and grimaced at the unforgiving makeshift mattress. "Yeah, about that. Which of us is gonna work the night shifts?"

Immediately Heyes fingers moved toward his vest pocket, but the Kid beat him to it by pulling out a coin of his own. "If we flip for it, we use _my_ coin." 

Heyes shrugged. "Fine. Heads I take the first week of night shifts."

Curry flipped the coin and snatched it out of the air with a flourish. The minute he looked at it he shook his head in dismay. It was tails. Even using his own coin and not his partner's, which he was convinced was crooked and only brought out for occasions such as these, it appeared he still could not win a coin toss.


	4. Chapter 4

Kid Curry turned onto his back and kicked off the thin blanket partially covering him. Just as he had expected, the cramped room was hot and airless. The small window in the wall high above his head was wide open but only let in warm air. He turned onto his side, punched his pillow a couple of times, and closed his eyes. Five minutes later he flopped onto his back again with a frustrated sigh. 

Finding himself with a considerable thirst from the heat he got up, pulled his jeans on over his long underwear and opened the door. He could hear Miss Mead speaking with a customer in the shop and, assuming she would be engaged for some time, elected to ignore the requirements of polite society and not put his shirt on over his henley.

He made his way silently down the hall and across the kitchen to the sink where, after a few vigorous pumps the water began to spew. Curry tilted his head to drink directly from the flow. Once his initial thirst was quenched he picked up a glass, filled it, and figuring he would soon be needing the outhouse after drinking all that water, made his way to the back door. He stood for a while in the open doorway, squinting at the bright sunlight and sipping from the glass as he surveyed the quiet alleyway which ran along the back of the building. Soon, a wide yawn reminded him that he should return to his cot. He needed all the sleep he could get — guarding the store at night meant he had to be more alert than usual. 

It was as he turned to go inside that the Kid felt it — the merest whiff of a breeze — and it was refreshingly cool on his damp curls. He jumped down into the alley and stood alongside several large wooden packing crates marked 'Fragile - Stoneware' and stamped Louisville Pottery, Kentucky. Here he found the breeze to be just strong enough to push through the fibres of his henley to the damp skin beneath. Having inspected the crates and finding a shaded niche, wide enough to accommodate him and where the breeze could still be felt, he went back inside and gathered up his pillow and blanket and strapped on his gun belt. As an afterthought, and so that Heyes would know where to find him, he grabbed a scrap of paper and scribbled a short note, leaving it on the empty cot. Once outside again he settled down between the crates and fell asleep almost instantly.

Sometime later, stirring from a deep sleep the Kid gradually became aware of the sound of voices on the other side the crates. Hoping that whoever it was would soon move along, he kept his eyes closed.

"This looks like a real good place, Ed. Whaddya think?"

"Well, we sure can't do it out front."

"There's the side alley."

"Too close to Culpepper's drug store. I got strict instructions; it ain't supposed to damage anythin' else."

"Gee, Ed, this here wood is tinder dry and fires can spread real quick!"

Kid Curry's blue eyes sprang open. He was wide awake now.

"Keep yer voice down, Lennie, someone'll hear ya!"

"Who? That dumb kid she's got workin' for her?" 

"Naw, not him. I heard she's hired a couple of drifters, like those two Ramos took care of."

"Can't say I've taken to Ramos."

"Don't think you're s'possed to, Lennie. Ramos is just a gun, pure and simple. C'mon, let's get on back."

As the sound of the two men's footsteps grew ever more distant the Kid sat up and rubbed his hands over his face. Had he heard right? Was someone planning to burn down the store? 

Cautiously he crept out from between the crates. He was alone in the alley. 

Once back inside Curry cracked open the door into the store front. Viola was dealing with a customer, Willard was stocking shelves and Heyes was standing near the door, his gun belt partially hidden under a long white apron. Once the customer had concluded her business and left, the Kid opened the door a little further.

"Joshua," he beckoned. "Can I speak to you for a moment?"

"I'll just be the other side of that door, ma'am," Heyes assured Viola and closing the door behind him his face took on a look of concern. "What is it? Why are you wearing your gun?"

Curry steered his partner further down the hallway so that they wouldn't be overheard. "We've got ourselves a problem."

"What kind of problem?"

"Somebody's plannin' to set fire to the place."

Heyes' eyes widened. "This place?"

"I think so."

"When?"

"Dunno. But it sounded like they were lookin' to use the crates I was sleepin' between to do it."

Confused, Heyes raised a hand. "Hold on a minute! You were sleeping out back?"

"That room's like a doggone oven, Heyes. So, I hunkered down in the middle of some old packing crates outside where there was some air. That's when I overheard the fellas talkin'. They didn't know I was there."

"According to Miss Mead, Kincaid said he'd get her out by force, if necessary." Heyes frowned thoughtfully. "Okay, you go back to bed. I'll take care of the crates. If this place is the target, the less fuel they can get their hands on the better."

"They're big crates, Heyes. I'll go get a cup of coffee then we'll move them together."

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

As the sun approached the horizon Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry found themselves standing almost ankle deep in small strips of wood. Instead of moving the crates away from the building and risking them being moved straight back again to fuel a fire, Heyes had suggested breaking them up into kindling, an idea Viola wholeheartedly supported. Making a profit out of used packing crates was, to her, a very good idea.

"Oooweee!" chirped Willard as he jumped down from the back door clutching a handful of cut lengths of string. "Look at all them sticks. Sure could start a lotta fires with them."

Heyes and Curry exchanged a knowing glance.

Seconds later Viola appeared at the door, a ball of string in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other. "I brought these in case we need more string—" Her eyes widened at the size of the pile. "—and it looks like we will. Come on Willard, start bundling. About twelve sticks in each should suffice."

It was almost dark by the time the kindling had been tied into batches and stacked neatly in the store room. Then, having sent Willard home for the night Viola turned her attention to supper and was standing at the kitchen stove stirring a large bubbling pot when Heyes, having cleaned up a little and changed his shirt, entered the kitchen.

"Ma'am, me and Thaddeus are going over to the cafe before it closes," he said, flicking dust off the brim of his hat. "We won't be long."

Viola turned, and Heyes wondered if he saw a fleeting look of disappointment pass across her face. "There's plenty here if you would care to join me. Your conditions of employment do include food."

He eyed the three places already set at the table.

"I'm a passable cook, Mister Smith; I promise I won't poison you."

"We've all had a long day ma'am, wouldn't want to put you to any trouble."

"Oh, it's no trouble, I—." Viola stopped as the Kid appeared in the doorway.

"You comin' Joshua?"

Heyes jerked his thumb in the direction of the table. "Miss Mead has cooked supper for us."

"Well now, that sounds mighty fine to me." Curry grinned widely as he tossed his hat onto an empty peg by the door and hastily pulled up a chair. He always preferred home cooking to that of a restaurant or cafe. No matter what the fare it somehow tasted better and, for a brief moment, conjured up faded memories of family.

"I doubt the cafe would still be open at this hour," explained Viola as, with a thick cloth, she grasped the handles of the cast iron pot. Before she could lift it Heyes was on his feet and with a gentle "let me" he took the cloth from her hands and picked up the pot, carefully placing it in the centre of the table next to a basket of bread rolls. On the pretext of checking the coffee pot, Viola turned her back to the table but not quickly enough to hide the blush in her cheeks. 

Curry raised a speculative eyebrow which Heyes chose to ignore. 

"Please, help yourselves, gentlemen," Viola invited as she took her place at the table.

"Oh, you don't want to go saying things like that, ma'am," said Heyes as the Kid’s gun hand made its way toward the serving ladle. "Thaddeus has an appetite like a grizzly in the fall, and you and I could finish up on the wrong end of some very lean pickin's."

After throwing a hard stare at his cousin Curry picked up Viola's plate, carefully spooned some stew onto it, and set it down in front of her with a polite, "Ladies first." 

Ever since they were children the Kid had hated being hungry and had always eaten whatever was on offer, even the tasteless swill at the School for Waywards, so Heyes could never resist an opportunity to tease him. And because food had always been of such importance he rarely failed to rise to the bait. Heyes grinned cheekily as he offered up his own plate, onto which his cousin slopped a significantly smaller portion of stew. 

"That sure was good, Miss Mead," said Curry, after mopping his plate with the last piece of bread. 

Heyes reached over to the stove for the coffee pot and topped up their cups. He sat back comfortably in his chair but the Kid glanced at the old clock on the wall beside the dresser. "I should be gettin' out there and startin' my patrol."

"Please finish your coffee first, Mister Jones," Viola insisted. "You've both put in extra work today which was certainly not in your remit."

"Breakin' up those crates?" asked Curry. "Well, it was kinda necessary. They were somethin' of a fire risk bein' so close to the building like that."

Over the rim of his cup Heyes' eyes carried a look of caution as his cousin got too near the truth. It had been decided that the possibility of an arson attack on the business would be best kept between themselves. After all, there had been no indication as to when it would take place and they didn't want to alarm Viola unnecessarily.

After gulping down the hot coffee the Kid pushed his chair back. "Have you a spare key for the back door ma'am? I'd like to be able to come and go during the night without wakin' anybody."

"Oh, yes, of course." Viola began rummaging in one of the dresser drawers, eventually holding up a large key.

"Thank you, ma'am. You have a nice evening now." Curry placed the key in his vest pocket and closed the door behind him.

"How 'bout I wash?" volunteered Heyes as Viola began to clear the table. 

"There really is no need. I'm sure you have something better to do." Viola could feel her cheeks colouring a little again.

"Nope. Can't think of anything." He pushed up his sleeves and began pumping water into the sink.

"But this is your leisure time."

Having added a little soap to the water Heyes held out a suds covered hand. "The dishes. Please."

Once everything was washed, dried and put in its rightful place Viola took out her sewing and sat down next to the lamp. 

Heyes pulled a pack of cards from his top pocket. "I'd like to sit here for a while and play solitaire, if you don't mind, ma'am."

"I don't mind at all." Viola was quite happy for him to sit there for as long as he wanted. 

After almost a half hour of playing solitaire Heyes began to get bored and instead, dealt himself twenty-five cards to make into five pat poker hands. Viola, who had been trying to concentrate on embroidering a pillowcase, in between throwing the odd glance at her handsome companion, became aware of a change in rhythm of the cards. She got to her feet and went over to the dresser. 

"Would you like some coffee, Mister Smith?" she asked, gesturing with a cup in Heyes' direction. 

"I would, thank you. And please, call me Joshua."

Curious to see what he was doing Viola sipped her coffee and watched while he set out another twenty-five cards. "I've never seen solitaire played like that before," she remarked.

"Oh, this isn't solitaire; it's more of a... card trick."

"A trick. How interesting. Could you teach me how to do it?"

Heyes wasn't sure about teaching a lady a trick, especially one which involved playing cards. The only women he had ever seen handling cards were those working in a saloon.

"I suppose I could, but it would mean I'd have to teach you something a lady like yourself don't usually want to learn."

"Really?"

"Yes. You see, I'm sorting the cards into poker hands."

"Oh, how sinful!" Viola exclaimed with a hint of relish the former outlaw was not expecting. He smiled, enjoying the excited sparkle in her eyes as she quickly put her sewing to one side and moved her chair round the table to sit next to him. "Please show me."

"Okay. First you shuffle the cards." Heyes executed a couple of riffle shuffles adding some fancy cuts for good measure. "Then you deal the cards out on the table, like this." He placed the twenty-five cards in neat rows. "Now, in poker you get dealt five cards so the object of the trick is to make five hands using only these cards." Noticing her deep frown he added, "Let me show you how those hands could look."

All the time explaining exactly what he was doing and why, Heyes sorted the cards into five pat hands and, after two further demonstrations, he gathered up the cards and placed the deck on the table in front of her.

"It works nine times out of ten. Why don't you try?" 

Viola hesitated. "I don't know how to mix them up. Could you do it for me?"

"The correct term is 'shuffle'," corrected Heyes as he once again riffle shuffled the deck. "You can do it like that but this way is a little easier." He demonstrated a simple overhand method. 

"I like the first one. It makes a nice sound."

The consummate gambler agreed wholeheartedly. There were few sounds he loved more than the sound of a pack of cards, except maybe the click the tumblers of a safe made falling into place, or the rustle of dollar bills being counted. Step by step Heyes showed Viola how to shuffle the deck.

Having handed her the pack he watched as she cut it but, the minute she attempted the shuffle itself, cards flew all over the table. "Oh, dear," she said, embarrassed. "It's obviously not as easy as you make it look."

"Evidence of a misspent youth," he confessed. "Try again."

When the same thing happened Heyes once more gathered up the cards then got up and stood behind Viola watching as she cut the cards ready for the shuffle. 

"Oh, I see what you're doing wrong," he said, then without thinking he leaned over and placed his hands over hers. Viola found herself holding her breath — he was so close she could feel the warmth from his arms and the faintest touch of his breath on her cheek.

"Put your thumb here, like this." Heyes felt his own heart-rate pick up as he gently moved her thumb with his own. "Then some pressure here with your middle finger."

The cards flickered and mingled in an orderly fashion. With a satisfied smile he swallowed hard and took a step back. "You wanna deal them out?"

Unable to stop her hands from trembling Viola proceeded to place the cards on the table the way she had seen Heyes do it. Then she began moving the cards and succeeded in making a flush and a run. After a few more minutes of concentration she placed three queens together and was about to add two fives to them when the door opened and Kid Curry walked in. 

"Thought you mighta been..." The Kid's voice trailed off as he stared firstly at his partner, standing closer to Viola than was respectable, then at the card-strewn table. He too was not accustomed to the sight of a lady playing cards.

"I was teaching Miss Mead a card trick," explained Heyes, matter-of-factly, well aware that the gunman's instincts would have picked up on the slightly charged atmosphere. 

The Kid's guarded look remained on Heyes the whole time as he walked across the kitchen. "Yeah well, it's all quiet outside," he confirmed. "I'll go sit in the shop for a while, keep watch from there. You'll probably be asleep by the time I head back out." 

Heyes smiled tightly. "Probably."


	5. Chapter 5

"Well, that was a real quiet night," Kid Curry remarked as he let himself into the kitchen the following morning. "Nothin' to report 'cept for a few scrawny coyotes and a real nosy raccoon." He slumped into a seat at the table and lowered his voice. "No sign of Kincaid's men. Maybe I was jumpin' to conclusions yesterday." 

Heyes was attempting to shave at the sink using a small mirror balanced precariously on the corner of the dresser. He glanced over his shoulder. "Maybe we ruined their plans when we got rid of those crates," he said, in between passes with the blade. "We need to stay whip-smart. Don't want the place to burn down with all of us in it."

Curry yawned widely. "Oh yeah, that reminds me, what was goin' on with you and Miss Mead last night?" 

"Nothing was _'going on'_. Sheesh, Kid, you can be real fanciful sometimes."

"I ain't being fanciful. Somethin' was _'goin' on'_."

"I was simply showing her a card trick." Heyes' reply was muffled by a towel as he wiped the patches of leftover shaving soap from his face.

"Pfftt, a card trick." Kid Curry shook his head; he didn't totally believe his partner's explanation. "If I hadn't walked in you'd—."

Both men turned as the internal door opened. "Good morning, gentlemen!"

Viola's pale blue checked dress swished around her ankles as she crossed the room to the stove. She was about to pick up what she thought was a cold coffee pot and fill it with water only to discover it was already quite hot. "Have you re-heated last night's coffee?" 

Hastily buttoning up his shirt, Heyes answered, "No, ma'am. Made it fresh, this morning." 

"Mister Jones, would you like...?" Viola held up a cup but the Kid was already closing the door behind him.

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

While Kid Curry slept the others had a busy morning, especially Willard Whipple. From the moment the youngster stepped in the door Viola had him moving barrels and sacks from the stockroom to the front of the store and piling almost half of the kindling bundles neatly outside on the boardwalk alongside a stack of tin pails, various sized lanterns, and a collection of brooms. It also seemed that every customer wanted items from the top shelves which meant him constantly climbing up and down a ladder. 

Business was so brisk that even Heyes found himself standing behind the counter to serve the occasional customer. Pardew was a bustling little town, just as Denver had once been and, like Denver, he was in no doubt that it would change forever, probably double in size, once the railroad arrived. 

As lunchtime approached the number of shoppers dwindled and Heyes once more took up his preferred position near the door, watching the street. After a few minutes the former outlaw leader became aware of two men watching the store. He smiled inwardly. There was nothing particularly conspicuous about them, they looked like regular cowboys, but were obviously under the impression that leaning casually against a building a little way up the street would not make them stand out. That didn't fool the one time leader of the Devil's Hole Gang for one minute. He had piped enough banks to recognize reconnaissance when he saw it. Not wishing to alert them to the fact that they had been spotted he looked casually at his pocket watch and moved away from the door, still keeping his eyes on the men through the window.

Viola turned to Willard. "You may go and have your lunch now. Please be back at one-thirty sharp."

"Yes, Miss." Willard disappeared quickly through the front door. He needed to run or he wouldn't have enough time to eat the meal his mother would have cooked for him before hurrying back to work.

Amused, Heyes watched as the boy took off down the street. "Someone's hungry!"

Viola smiled as she followed Heyes' gaze. "He lives a little way out of town and, I suppose, for a youngster like him it has been a long time since breakfast."

"Why doesn't he bring a pail?"

"Oh, he does, but not every day. He goes home for a cooked meal two days a week. His mama wants to make sure he eats well. Willard doesn't have any siblings and Mister Whipple passed about two years ago. They struggle. That's one of the reasons I gave Willard a job. Mrs Whipple takes in a little sewing from time to time. I try and remind people of that when they purchase cloth."

"That's real kind-hearted of you, ma'am. I'm sure she's grateful for your help."

Feeling a little embarrassed Viola changed the subject. "I really appreciate your assistance with the customers this morning, Joshua. But, I wonder if I could impose upon you for a little longer? I'd like to go and make us some lunch."

"That's fine with me." Heyes smiled. "But, before you do... those two fellas over there." He pointed to the men. "They local boys?"

"Yes, I do believe I've seen them around town. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, just idle curiosity." 

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

The moonlight came and went as each thin bank of clouds passed overhead, briefly illuminating Kid Curry as he leaned against the post outside the front of the mercantile watching the empty street. Now that the saloon had closed for the night and the last of the drinkers had staggered home, Pardew was still and silent. The only indication that someone else might be awake was the light behind the drawn shade of the sheriff's office window. 

Exactly as he had done the previous night, he would stay outside the front of the mercantile for fifteen minutes, patrol down the alley and around the back for another fifteen, then spend a half hour watching the street from within the store itself. He would repeat this routine every hour, all night. 

A light breeze blew from the east and Curry automatically reached up to adjust his hat. He tutted at himself for forgetting that he wasn't wearing it, having elected to leave it indoors rather than risk the moonlight reflecting off the large silver conchos of the hatband. 

Shifting onto the opposite hip he took out his .45 to routinely check the load and was about to drop it back into the holster again when a sound made him freeze. Maybe it was that pesky raccoon again, chittering and grunting. Or, was it muted voices? He strained his ears to listen and having decided not to take a chance on it being the latter he moved toward the alley and pressed his back against the wall.

With his gun pointing downward at his side Curry slowly looked around the corner. The alley was empty. He once again flattened himself against the wall and listened. It was definitely voices, but he couldn't make out the words. Slowly he edged his way along the alley to the rear of the building. Peering around the next corner he saw two men, one of whom was carrying an armful of wood. 

Kid Curry didn't hesitate, he stepped around the corner and cocked his gun. "Hold it!."

Both men spun round to face him.

"You'd better drop those logs real quick or I'll drop _you_ right where you stand."

The wood clattered at the man's feet.

"Take your guns out real slow and toss 'em." Blue eyes watched intently as the men did as instructed. "Now get those hands up."

They both raised their hands. "We weren't doin' nuthin', mister," pleaded one in a voice the Kid knew he had heard before. "We was on our way home to build us a nice warm fire." 

"Bit warm for a fire, ain't it boys? Unless you was planning on startin' one right here." 

"Oh no, that weren't our intent."

"So, which of you fellas is Lennie and which is Ed?" asked Curry, taking great pleasure in the surprised look on their faces at the mention of familiar names.

"I-I'm Lennie," the wood carrier said.

"And that would make _you_ Ed." Curry pointed his gun at the other man.

"Not me." The man's eyes drifted past the Kid's left shoulder. "But _he_ is."

The blow from behind made a gut-churning thud at the base of the Kid's skull and he slumped face first into the dirt.

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

It was not long before Kid Curry started to come to. His hand went to the back of his head and he groaned as he touched a painful lump. His hair was sticky too. Slowly he opened his eyes and eased himself onto his elbows not liking how the movement made the alley spin. While trying to breathe through the nausea he noticed his Colt on the ground beside him and his muzzy brain began to wonder how it was shining so brightly in the dark. It couldn't be morning already, could it? Surely he hadn't been unconscious that long. He reached out and picked up the gun. It was then that something else brought him instantly to his senses — he could smell smoke. 

Scrambling to his feet he stood swaying and staring at the stack of burning wood which had been pushed against the building. Flames were beginning to lick at the wall underneath the kitchen window and he knew it would not be long before the fire spread to such an extent that it would take more than one bucket brigade to put it out. 

The Kid fished in his vest pocket for the key to the back door. It wasn't there. Concluding that it must have fallen out as he hit the ground, he pounded the door with his fist. Luckily, Heyes was a light sleeper so he had a good chance of waking him quickly.

With a thundering heart he watched the flames grow as he continued to hammer on the door. Soon he heard the sound of a key turning the lock and Heyes, clad only in his henley with his pants pulled on but still undone, flung open the door.

"Wha—?"

"Fire!" 

At the sight of the flames Heyes turned and ran bare footed and fumbling with the buttons on his pants, back into the store to where he remembered seeing Willard stack the pails he had brought in from the boardwalk at closing time. 

When he returned to the kitchen Curry was already filling a large pan at the pump. "Go," was all Heyes said as he nudged his partner out of the way. Slopping water onto the floor the Kid headed out the door to throw it on the fire. Heyes began working the pump as fast as he could to fill a bucket.

Almost instantly Curry appeared at his shoulder. "C'mon, Heyes. Half a bucket will have to do. We need to keep this goin' or it's gonna take hold."

Heyes thrust the bucket into the Kid's waiting hands and started another.

The loud banging on the door along with the smell of burning and the clanging of buckets had woken Viola. She appeared at the kitchen door in her nightdress, hastily pulling her robe around her, just as Heyes was in the process of handing the Kid another bucket. "Should we not raise the alarm?" she asked.

"No time," he answered, placing another bucket into the sink with a loud clang and working the pump as hard as he could. "We'll get it under control if we work fast."

Viola shooed Heyes away from the pump. "Go! I'll fill the buckets."

Heyes pulled the pail from the sink and dashed out the door. In the meantime Curry had been back inside, seized a broom and was busy using it, together with his booted feet, to move the source of the blaze away from the building before dousing it with water.

It took several minutes of careering in and out of the door carrying numerous buckets of water before the main fire was out, but even then Heyes and Curry continued to launch as much water as they could at the wall until it was completely saturated and had stopped smoking.

Viola, her dark hair falling about her shoulders in an unruly fashion, clasped her hands tightly to her breast as she took her place beside the two men and stared in bewilderment at the charred wall. "How did this start?" 

Having almost got his breath back Heyes indicated the remains of the wood that had started the blaze. "Deliberately." He glanced at Curry. "Right?" 

Kid Curry, who was bent over trying to steady himself by resting his hands on his knees, nodded painfully. His head was beginning to ache terribly now that the adrenalin-fuelled exertion had ceased.

"Deliberately!" With anger driven by fear Viola turned on the blond. "And where were you? I'm not paying you to sleep, I'm paying you to keep watch!"

Before he could reply Curry found his knees buckling and he sank onto all fours. Suddenly contrite, Viola gasped. "Oh dear, are you hurt?"

"Dizzy."

Heyes grabbed his partner's arm. "Let's get you inside," he said as he pulled the Kid to his feet and helped him to the relative safety of a chair. 

Viola lit a lamp. It was then that Heyes noticed a bright red stain on the Kid's shirt collar. "Is that blood!" he exclaimed, and promptly parted the adjacent curls for the source. He frowned at the nasty find.

"It still bleedin'?" Curry winced at his touch. 

"Not much. I'm guessing you didn't get the drop on 'em then?"

"I got the drop on two of 'em alright, but a third came outta nowhere and hit me."

"Were they the fellas from yesterday?"

"Yep."

"Yesterday?" queried Viola as she set a box containing her medical supplies down on the table. "What happened yesterday?"

Heyes and Curry exchanged a glance. "Thaddeus overheard some fellas talking about a fire, ma'am, but we didn't want to be too hasty and alarm you over something that could turn out to be nothing. Guess we was wrong," Heyes added, reluctantly.

Viola finished filling a bowl with water and returned to the table. "I see. Now I understand why you insisted in breaking up those crates." She pulled a wad of cotton from the box and dipped it in the water.

"The place would have burned down for sure if we hadn't," confirmed Heyes. "We should count ourselves lucky that they didn't use kerosene too."

"Who were these men?" asked Viola as she continued to gently bathe the Kid's head wound.

"We don't know for sure but we have a pretty good idea they're connected to Kincaid."

"I may have a dispute with Mister Kincaid but, surely he wouldn't be behind something like—?"

Jerking his head up at the sting of Viola's unannounced application of iodine the Kid's loud involuntary curse cut her question short. "Begging your pardon, ma'am," he mumbled apologetically. "You kinda took me by surprise." 

"I've got some powders here for the pain or there's laudanum out there in the store."

"Thank you. I'll let you know if I need anythin'."

"We should inform the sheriff."

Heyes smiled stiffly. Their wanted posters were in such a prominent position on the wall of the jailhouse that he had been hoping to stay far away from there. With a look in his eyes only Curry would have recognized, he nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I'll go over there first thing in the morning." 

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

Sheriff Levine rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he examined the scorched planks at the rear of the mercantile. "You're a lucky lady, Miss Mead. Couldha been real nasty."

"That's something of an understatement, Sheriff."

"Any idea how it started?"

"I have good reason to believe it was started deliberately."

"And why might that be?"

Viola pointed to the scattered remnants of the source of the blaze. "A fire had been lit right underneath the window."

"My deputy says he didn't hear nobody raise the alarm last night." The sheriff's tone was a little sceptical.

"Mister Smith suggested we put it out ourselves to save time," explained Viola.

The sheriff folded his arms and frowned. "Oh, he did, did he? So, Mister Smith discovered this here fire?"

"No, it was Mister Jones."

"And what was he doin' out here in the middle of the night?"

Being reluctant to tell the sheriff that she had hired two guns to protect her property, the only thing Viola could think of was to look affronted and reply, "I don't believe it's proper for a lady to speak about a gentleman's 'personal business'." 

"Alright, I'll ask him myself."

"He's asleep right now." 

At the lawman's raised eyebrows, Viola added, "Mister Jones needs to rest. He was attacked, you know; knocked unconscious by the villains who did this."

"Uh-huh. He been to see the doc?"

"No, but he's got a cut and a very large lump on the back of his head."

"Well, like I said, ma'am, I need to talk to him. Make sure and send him over to the office when he wakes up."

Viola opened the store as usual and, while Heyes kept watch, Willard was put to work repairing the damaged wall. It was at times like these that Heyes was thankful for his cousin's ability to sleep anywhere anytime because, despite the loud banging and sawing, Kid Curry slept undisturbed. 

It was later that day, when he found himself standing outside the sheriff's office, his hat in his hand rather than on his sore head, that the Kid felt disturbed. In this slightly groggy state he didn't much like the idea of answering questions lest he slip up and give the sheriff cause to look at him and Heyes more closely, but Miss Mead was adamant that he speak with the sheriff as soon as possible. Reluctantly, he grasped the doorknob and opened the door. 

"You wanted to see me, Sheriff?

"Ah yes. Come in, Mister Jones." Sheriff Levine pointed to a straight backed chair directly beneath the wanted posters detailing their descriptions and crimes. "Sit." 

Curry sat and tried his best to act casual.

"Miss Mead tells me it was you who discovered the fire over at the mercantile last night."

"That's right."

"I also hear ya got some kinda injury."

"Sure did." The Kid swivelled in his seat in order to indicate the site of his head wound. "One of 'em hit me real hard, right there."

"One of 'em? How many were there?"

"Three."

"And you didn't see who did the hittin'." This was more of a statement than a question.

"No, but I'm pretty sure it was a fella named Ed. One of the others was called Lennie. I don't know about the third one."

"How come you know all this if you was knocked unconscious?"

Not wishing to admit he had been asleep in the daytime amid a pile of crates the Kid tried to think fast. "Before I passed out I heard 'em use those names. I think they're from Kincaid's hotel."

Sheriff Levine narrowed his eyes and leaned forward on his desk. "Young fella, to my reckonin' you ain't been in town more'n a few days, and yet you expect me to believe that these fellas are employed by George Kincaid, a respected man in these parts?"

"Yes, sir."

"How was it you happened to be out back at that hour anyway?"

"I was answerin' a call o' nature."

"Don't Miss Mead have one of them fancy indoor privies?"

Curry smiled, modestly. "Yes, she does, but... Mister Smith and me well, we figure that's for the lady's personal use. A fancy indoor privy ain't for the likes of us. We use the outhouse."

"And you was on your way there when you discovered this fire?"

"That's right."

"Hmmm."

"You gonna arrest those fellas, Sheriff?" Curry enquired.

The lawman leaned back in his chair. "That's my business. You can go." Curry almost jumped to his feet but managed to walk calmly to the door before the sheriff added, "But, Mister Jones, I may have some more questions, so don't go leavin' town."

"I won't," Curry assured him, adding under his breath, "unfortunately".


	6. Chapter 6

The following morning Kid Curry was already sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee when Hannibal Heyes stumbled into the room rubbing his eyes. Having made his way over to the sink he liberally sluiced his face with water.

"You look terrible. Bad night?" enquired the blond.

"Didn't sleep so good." Heyes ran wet hands through his shaggy brown hair. "Guess I was a little worried about you being out there, seeing as you was feeling dizzy at supper. Those fellas didn't come back did they?"

"No. The night was real quiet, and anyway, Heyes, dizzy or not I can still shoot straighter 'n you."

Heyes snorted as he poured himself a cup of coffee. "I was gonna ask how you're feeling this morning, but it sounds to me like you're back to your ornery self."

"Head still hurts some, but I've felt worse. Real tired, though. Can't wait to hit the sack."

"Well, I'm here now, so..." Heyes waved his hand vaguely at the door.

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

With a smile and a courteous "good day" Heyes opened the shop door to a customer who he very much hoped would be the last of the morning. Never having worked in a store before he had not been aware of how busy even a small town mercantile could get. In fact, it was something of a mystery to him how Miss Mead and Willard did this kind of work every single day. As he watched Willard rushing to and fro, up and down the ladder at both the customer's and Viola's beck and call it re-enforced his opinion that, despite the obvious hazards like getting blown up by dynamite or being shot at by a posse, robbing banks for a living was so much easier. 

"I think I should make the lunch today," Heyes said as he approached the counter where Viola was thumbing through the morning's receipts. "You've made it the past two days so it's about time I stepped up and took my turn. What do you think?"

"Thank you, Joshua that would be very nice. Take whatever ingredients you need from the storeroom, but please make a note of what you choose so I can account for them in my ledger."

Heyes chewed on his bottom lip before admitting sheepishly, "I was thinking more in the order of a couple of sandwiches." 

Viola looked up and smiled. "Sandwiches will be fine. There is some bread and smoked ham in the pantry." 

So that he wouldn't be expected to make anything more complicated than a sandwich Heyes quickly headed for the kitchen. He was about to begin slicing the bread when there was a succession of loud crashes and he heard Viola cry out. Assuming that Willard had fallen off the ladder he dropped the knife on the table and hastened down the hallway. 

On his cot Curry stirred, but merely turned over and went straight back to sleep.

Viola was still standing where Heyes had last seen her, except now she held her hand to her mouth and stared at a scared-looking Willard Whipple whose arm was held behind his back by one of the men Heyes had seen watching the store. The youngster's lip was already swelling, his eyes were watering, and blood dripped from his nose leaving bright red spots on his white apron. Willard wasn't the only casualty; three large boxes of china plates lay open on their sides, the broken pieces spewing across the floor.

"What's all this?" Heyes' question and sudden appearance in the doorway stayed the hand of another man who was about to push a fourth box to the ground. 

"None a your bizeeness," declared a lean, mean-looking moustachioed hombre from south of the border who Heyes noted wore his gun slung low in a cut-down holster. 

Even though none of the men had their guns drawn the former outlaw still presumed this was a robbery. Unperturbed, he strode nonchalantly into the middle of the floor. "Robbing a general store, huh? What happened? The bank throw you out?"

"I say, it none a your bizeeness, _Gringo_."

The hombre's hand was beginning to edge toward his gun when the bell over the door tinkled heralding the arrival of a clean-shaven, smartly dressed man in his early fifties. He wore a black hat with a gambler's crown, not unlike the one Heyes favoured, and displayed an air of superiority. 

"It's so good to see you again, Viola," the man drawled, smoothly. 

The merest hint of a sinking feeling was beginning to make its presence felt in Heyes' stomach. He had heard that voice somewhere before. Did he know this man? More importantly, did this man know him? 

Reassured by Heyes' presence Viola countered haughtily, "Miss Mead, if you please."

Appearing not to have heard her the man looked at the broken crockery and tutted, "You've really got to choose the people in your employ more carefully, Viola. I'd dock that boy's wages for a month, if I were you."

Willard wiped the back of his free hand across his bloody nose. "I ain't gonna take no blame fer—."

"Quiet, boy, unless you want more of the same," snarled the man.

Her hands tucked into the large pocket of her apron so nobody would notice them shaking, Viola stepped out from behind the counter. "My assistant didn't cause the damage. It was one of those ruffians in _your_ employ." 

"One of _my_ men? You must be mistaken." 

"What is it you want, Mister Kincaid?" 

"Viola, darlin', you know what I want. Now, I'm sure you don't want to discuss our business out here in front of all these people. Why don't we go into your office?" Kincaid reached out to take her by the arm but Viola took a step back, staying just out of reach.

Impressed by the lady's ability to hold her nerve Heyes had been content to let her continue dealing with the situation but as soon as he saw Kincaid attempt to touch her he had to get involved. 

Resisting the urge to seize the man's outstretched arm Heyes' eyes hardened as he said firmly, "Miss Mead's not going anywhere with you."

For the first time since he'd entered the store George Kincaid acknowledged Heyes' presence and his face took on a look of mock disappointment. 

"Well now, looks like you've gone and got yourself a fancy man. And there I was thinking you was saving yourself for me." 

Viola stuck out her chin and moved a step closer to Heyes. "Mister Smith is a friend." 

"A friend," repeated Kincaid with an exaggerated nod. Giving Heyes a lewd smile he added, "She's pretty feisty. You sure you're man enough for her? In the boudoir, I mean."

The former leader of the Devil's Hole Gang had to make a huge effort to rein in his mounting anger but his voice still took on an edge he seldom had the need to use these days. "No gentleman would speak that way in front of a lady, so unless you actually _do_ have some business to discuss, you'd better leave."

"Or what?"

Tempting as it was to grab a large fistful of this man's starched shirt front and apply his other fist to his jaw, Heyes knew he should stay calm. Although the Kid was only down the hallway it was very likely that this man's henchmen could do both him and the store and awful lot of damage before his partner could get out here. Reaching for his gun was not an option either. He didn't want bullets to start flying in such a confined space and put Viola's or Willard's lives at risk, and besides, the apron he had elected to wear for appearance sake would impeded his draw — a bad idea at the best of times, but especially when the wearer of the cut-down holster had the look of a gunfighter about him. 

Somewhere in his sub-conscious he could hear the Kid saying _don't be an idiot_ but somehow he just couldn't stop the next four words from tumbling off his supposedly silver tongue. 

"We could step outside." 

Critical eyes looked Heyes up and down. "No. I don't think so. Not today, anyway. I don't want to swing for killing the likes of you." 

Kincaid stepped over to the counter, leaned casually against it and pulled a cigar out of his breast pocket. Plucking a match from an ornate silver match case he ran it along the nearest piece of rough wood and lit the smoke. He dropped the still lit match to the floor. 

"Isn't one attempt at setting this place alight enough for you?" Heyes growled, as he trod it out.

"You've had a fire?" Kincaid didn't make much of an effort to sound surprised. "That's news to me. You see, I've been out of town — important meetings with the railroad company over in San Angelo." He puffed on his cigar. "Okay, Viola darlin', I haven't got all day so I guess I'm just gonna have to say my piece here in front of everyone. My more'n generous offer is no longer on the table. You've made me wait too long. So, I'm gonna give you exactly one week to vacate. One week, or things could turn real bad."

"Now, that sounded like a threat," observed Heyes.

"If having the little lady arrested and thrown in jail for trespassing on _my_ land constitutes a threat then, yes, I guess it is."

"You can't have me thrown in jail!" exclaimed Viola.

"Oh, darlin', I can. And I will. You see, the owner of the Texas and Pacific Railroad is coming here 'specially to see where the new depot is gonna be and he's bringing a whole bunch of major stockholders with him. They're all expecting to see a vacant plat and that's exactly what they're gonna see. I can't make it any clearer."

"What makes you so sure this land is yours?" asked Heyes.

George Kincaid gave a weary sigh. "Well, Mister Smith, seeing as you're so all-fired set on sticking your nose where it ain't wanted, I'll tell you. I own the title to most of the land hereabouts and that includes a good portion of the town, so I know how it's platted. I offered the Texas and Pacific this plat so that they could build a depot here. And that's exactly what's gonna happen. I also own the only hotel in town and stand to do very well when the railroad comes to Pardew. So, I'm not about to let anything, or anyone, get in my way. Understand?"

"I hope you've got the deeds to prove it." Heyes smiled but there was no humour in it. "Because I'd sure like to see them. I'm sure Miss Mead would too."

"Oh, so you're a lawyer now too?" Kincaid smirked as he looked Heyes up and down disdainfully. "You ain't nothing more than a good-for-nothin' cowpoke." 

With a flick of his hand Kincaid signaled to his men it was time to leave. As he made his way to the open doorway he paused to look back over his shoulder. "One week," he snarled. "Not a minute longer." 

Hannibal Heyes' dark eyes narrowed. There was no doubt in his mind that Kincaid would carry out his threat to have Viola thrown in jail. That was, of course, if he didn't make another attempt at razing the place to the ground in the meantime. He and the Kid had a little over a week remaining before they needed to be on their way to Porterville. Not wanting to simply ride out and abandon Viola in her current situation he would have to think of something, and fast.

While Heyes watched the men walk up the street toward the hotel, Viola rushed to crouch beside Willard who was sitting on the floor rubbing his arm. 

"Oh dear. Look at you. Does it feel broken?" she asked, dabbing at his bloody nose with the corner of his apron. 

"Dunno, Miss," croaked the boy. "I ain't never been hit that hard afore."

"Come through to the back and we'll get you cleaned up."

Heyes slid the bolt across the door and flipped the sign over to Closed before he joined them in the kitchen. "Let me take a look at that," he said, tilting Willard's bruised face. Taking hold of his nose he wriggled it gently. 

"Owww!" whined Willard as blood began to flow again

"Isn't broken," Heyes assessed, confidently. He had lost count of the number of times he had checked his cousin's nose for breaks after fights both as a child and as an adult. He grabbed Willard's hand and placed it where his fingers had been. "Pinch it here and it'll stop bleeding. Do you feel dizzy, or hurt anywhere else, like your ribs?"

"Nossir."

"Good. Why'd that fella hit you, anyway?"

Viola sat down at the table with a bowl of water and her medical kit for the second time that week. "He tried to stop those villans from wrecking the store."

"Weren't nuthin'," mumbled Willard, followed by a sharp intake of breath as a cold, wet cloth was applied to his split lip.

Heyes squeezed his shoulder. "I'm sure Miss Mead appreciates what you did."

"I certainly do. You were very brave, Willard. But you need to sit still; I have to get you cleaned up before your mama sees you. She will already be wondering why you haven't come home for your dinner."

"I don't mind stayin' to sweep up all them busted plates, Miss."

"It can wait. We will close this afternoon." Viola glanced anxiously over her shoulder toward the door to the shop.

"I bolted the door," Heyes assured her. 

Once Willard's nose had stopped bleeding again and the blood wiped from his face Viola sent him home for the rest of the day, armed with a pot of salve to help with the bruises. 

"That kid deserves a bonus," remarked Heyes as he locked the back door too. "He was lucky not to get badly beaten." Turning back he was alarmed to see the usually composed lady with her hands covering her face. "Hey, are you okay?" 

While tipping away the blood tinged water Viola had begun to tremble. She had been more frightened than she had realized and now, anger and frustration were adding themselves to the mix of emotions she was trying to deal with. Joshua was right, Kincaid had a number of violent men at his beck and call. She had heard talk about them around town and didn't doubt the rumours, but had never witnessed anything untoward herself, until today. 

"What if he's right?" she asked, her voice barely audible as if she were talking to herself. "What if he does have the right to have me thrown into jail? I could lose everything! How can I afford a lawyer without any money?" Dropping her hands away from her face she stared up at Heyes, her blue eyes brimming with tears. "Oh, Joshua, what am I going to do?" 

Two large teardrops spilled down her cheeks and before he realized what he was doing Heyes found himself pulling her into his arms. Squeezing his eyes shut he murmured, "I won't let them hurt you."

Viola pulled back a little so she could look him in the eye. "But what about you and Mister Jones? I don't want anything to happen to either of you."

"It won't," he assured her with a slow smile as his dark eyes caressed her face. 

Dipping his head he softly kissed the tears away from her cheeks before crooking a finger under her chin and tilting it up. With a soft brush of his lips on hers he felt her body yield, trembling again but this time not in fear as he covered her mouth with his. 

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

Late afternoon saw Heyes seated at the kitchen table deep in thought, which is where Kid Curry, having slept right through the disturbance, found him. 

"Why ain't you out front?"

Heyes raised his eyes from the knot he had been contemplating in the wooden table top. "Closed up early." 

Hearing an edge to Heyes' voice Curry hastily sat down. "Trouble?"

"We had a visit from George Kincaid and three of his 'friends'."

"How come you didn't you wake me?"

" _How come you didn't wake up?_ " Heyes challenged. "They made enough noise to wake the dead." 

"Hey, don't go gettin' proddy! I get tired being up all night. Bein' whomped real hard on the back of the head don't help."

Having witnessed the Kid sleeping through everything from almost hurricane strength storms to Kyle experimenting with a new supply of dynamite, Heyes didn't need to hear any excuses. "Will got in the way of a fist, poor kid. Viola sent him home. She was pretty upset by it all so I suggested she go upstairs and rest until supper."

Kid considered his partner's face for a moment. "Don't see any bruises on you, Heyes."

"Kincaid's more of a talker. There was a fella with him who had the look of a gunman about him though. Danger in his eyes, cut down holster." Heyes couldn't help the smirk that crossed his lips. "You know the sort."

Kid Curry bit back the caustic retort lurking on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he asked, "You figured out what we can do about this?" 

"Nah, I'm still working on it." Heyes shook his head, stood up, and began to pace. "Kincaid has withdrawn his offer to buy the store. He's now threatening to have Viola thrown in jail if she doesn't leave." Suddenly his anger reignited. "It don't matter a damn whether the depot is on this very spot, or a couple of blocks further down the street. Kincaid only wants it right here so it's closer to his goddamn hotel!"

It didn't escape the Kid's notice that Heyes had referred to Miss Mead by her first name — twice — but he wisely decided to save that observation for another time. "Sounds like you're gonna hafta come up with somethin' quick, Heyes. There's only about a week 'til we need to head on back to Porterville. Lom's expectin' us."

"I know that, but I sure would like to know if Kincaid really has a claim. Maybe I'll suggest Viola goes and gets the documents she signed when she bought this place. She says they're stored in a lock box over at the bank. I thought I could take a look at them for her."

"Aaww, c'mon, Heyes, leave all the legal stuff to a lawyer, will ya. We've got enough problems here."

Heyes ceased pacing. "Oh yeah, talking of problems... I think I may know Kincaid from somewhere."

Immediately on the alert, Curry asked, "Where?"

A shrug. "Can't recall."

"A lawman?"

A frown. "Uh-uh."

"Another gang?"

A simple shake of the head.

"What's he look like?"

Heyes described the man adding, "There was just something familiar about him ..."

"Want me to take a look?"

"That's not a bad idea, but when?"

Curry ran his hand over the rough stubble on his chin. "I was thinkin' about going along to the bath house tomorrow morning. It's so darned hot in that room I probably ain't smellin' so good. Not good enough to be takin' supper with a lady like Miss Mead, anyways. I could try and get a look at Kincaid then."

Heyes nodded thoughtfully. "I know it's not a full week yet but, I think we should swap shifts. I'd rather you were awake if that bunch shows up again, especially if that fella is a gunman."

Stepping up against an unknown gun wasn't an ideal situation but the Kid was the sort of person who very rarely backed down when challenged, no matter how great the danger. He nodded in agreement, before asking, "Do you think I've got time for a shave before supper?"


	7. Chapter 7

"Rise and shine, partner!" Kid Curry stuck his head round the office door a little after dawn. 

Heyes groaned and turned over, pulling the blanket over his head. 

"There's coffee on the stove and I'm gonna start cutting some bacon. I'm off to the bath house this mornin', remember?"

Heyes groaned again. "It feels like I've only just got to sleep. I must have been awake half the night trying to work out a plan."

"What did you come up with?"

"Nothing worth mentioning," mumbled Heyes, despondently.

"Pfftt. And you're always tellin' me you do your best thinkin' at night." Curry shut the door. 

By the time Heyes was properly awake, dressed, and had walked into the kitchen, the enticing smell of frying bacon filled the air. He made his way over to the coffee pot and poured himself a large cup. Having swallowed a scalding but reviving mouthful he turned to Viola who was busy breaking eggs into a bowl.

"Did you sleep alright last night?" he asked. 

She regarded him from beneath lowered lashes and a blush swept across her cheeks. "I did. Thank you for asking, Joshua."

Curry's eyes flickered curiously from one to the other. He'd had a feeling that something was going on between those two and now he was certain. _Heck Heyes,_ he thought, _it ain't like you to go and get yourself involved. You know we can't stay here. We can't stay anywhere! No matter how doggone pretty her eyes are._

Breakfast was almost finished when a knock on the back door had the Kid immediately drop his fork and draw the Colt which was still on his hip. "Who's there?" he asked, aiming the pistol at the door with his thumb hovering over the hammer. The muffled response of "Will'd," made him slide it back home. "Come on in, Will. It ain't locked."

A face with one side covered in livid bruises appeared around the door followed by the rest of Willard Whipple. 

Curry whistled softly at the sight of the boy's face. "Now that's what I call a black eye!"

Willard tried to smile but his sore and swollen face made it difficult. "Sorry fer disturbn' yer breakfas' an' all. F'gured I'd start sweepn'," he mumbled.

Viola regarded the boy dubiously. "That eye looks very swollen."

'"M a'right, Miss."

Viola knew little about facial injuries but, after yesterday, it was obvious that Heyes did. She gave him a questioning look. "What do you think, Joshua. Should he work today?"

Heyes beckoned Will over and turned his bruised face this way and that in order to take a closer look. "That eye's closed up good. Can you see out of it?" he asked.

"Some."

"Not been sick in the night?"

"Nossir."

"Hmm." He turned Willard to face the Kid. "What do you think, Thaddeus? You've had a few black eyes in your time."

"Looks to me like he's tougher than we gave him credit for. I reckon he'll be fine," opined Curry.

"Well alright, you can work today," confirmed Viola. "But Willard, you be sure to tell me if you feel unwell."

"Yes, Miss."

Heyes smiled wryly as Willard grabbed a broom from the corner near the door and stomped off down the hallway. "He sure is keen to prove himself. But, looking like that...he might frighten the customers!"

The Kid rolled his eyes but Viola cast him a serious look. "That's a good point. I'll find him some work in the stockroom for the next couple of days."

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

Kid Curry, his saddlebags slung over one shoulder, strolled happily along the boardwalk. Although he was tired and needed his bed it was good to be away from the store for a while. The past few days it felt like all he had been doing was sleeping in an oven and walking around in the dark with his hand on his gun. 

As he approached the saloon he made a point of taking a good look over at the Horsehead Hotel on the opposite side of the street but it was early yet and he didn't expect to see a great deal of activity. There was, however, one person who appeared to be enjoying the morning sunshine. The man was sitting in a veranda chair on the porch, reading a newspaper. The Kid slowed his pace and watched as a waiter emerged from the lobby and the reader dropped the paper into his lap in order to take a cup of coffee from the man's tray.

Curry stared. Feeling his stomach lurch uncomfortably he took a step backward to collide unexpectedly with the wall of the saloon. He squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head, and opened them again. He wasn't seeing things: the man was still there. Now Kid Curry wasn't the kind of person who believed in ghosts but here was one right in front of him. And in broad daylight! 

Managing to collect himself he turned down the next alleyway and stumbled up the steps to the bath house. Barely noticing the attendant as he explained that he couldn't guarantee hot water at this early hour Curry handed over his money, took the thin towel, washcloth and sliver of soap that were thrust into his hands, and made his way toward the first vacant tub. Here he waited while the tub was filled, bucketful by bucketful, then he quickly undressed and climbed in.

Almost immediately he sucked in a deep breath and slipped beneath the water's surface, using the temporary silence to try and clear his head and think rationally. From Heyes' description the man on the porch had to be George Kincaid, but Curry couldn't see how that was possible. When he eventually came up for air he dropped his head back to rest it against the cold metal rim. Blond curls, darkened by water, shed pearl-like droplets onto his face as he closed his eyes and cast his mind back...

_Me and Heyes rode into Cedar Creek a little before sundown after spending a long twelve hours in the saddle. The town had everything we needed, which in those days wasn't much: a saloon and a bathhouse, and more importantly on this occasion, a livery stable with an obliging owner who didn't mind us bunking down in the hayloft, so long as we looked after our own horses. After paying him a dollar we brushed, fed and watered said animals before our own stomachs started demanding urgent attention. We headed for the saloon._

__

__

_By the time we'd swallowed our first beers and partaken of the day's special — corned beef hash with two fried eggs on top — the bar was filling up. It seemed like a real friendly place. Heyes had a choice of faro or poker, leaving me with the pick of the girls. One in particular caught my eye and so, while Heyes applied himself and a good portion of our limited cash to the poker table, I found myself enjoying another beer and the company of a pretty blonde by the name of Cassie._

_The clock on the wall had not long chimed midnight when a yawning Heyes tapped me on the shoulder to tell me he was heading back to the stables. I nodded and turned my attention right back to Cassie. She was real sweet, not one of the usual brassy painted ladies usually found in saloons, but that didn't stop me expecting we would soon be headed upstairs to get a whole lot better acquainted._

_Heyes could have only been gone about a half hour when I glanced up to see a man, looking every inch a dandy — dark suit, fancy vest — standing next to my table. I thought nothing of it, until the man seized Cassie by the wrist._

_"How many times have I told you, girl? You ain't for the likes of him." Cassie let loose a cry of pain as the man roughly pulled her from my lap and dragged her toward a door at the back of the room._

_"Hey, mister! She's with me." I stood up so quick my chair toppled over onto the sawdust-covered floorboards. My shout caused Cassie to look over her shoulder and pull against him._

_The dandy stopped and tugged Cassie around to face him before slapping her hard across the face. "Come with me or you'll get more of that."_

_"That ain't no way to treat a lady," I said. I noticed the saloon was silent._

_Back then, before Heyes and me started robbin', I didn't have much money, but there were still times when I could afford the services of girls like Cassie and just because she worked in a saloon didn't mean I wasn't gonna treat her nice. I'd never forgotten what my ma had said to me about how to treat a woman, no matter who she was, or what she did for a livin'._

_"You talkin' to me, boy?" the man asked as his lips twisted into a snarl._

_I was easily riled in those days. "Yes I am. And I ain't no boy!"_

_The snarl faded only to be replaced with a sly grin. "Well, she sure ain't no lady. And I can do what I like. I own her."_

_The man turned to the girl who glared at him, her eyes full of hate, as she ran the back of her hand across her mouth smearing blood over her reddening cheek. "Cassandra darlin', you don't wanna go lookin' at me like that. You should be thanking me. I just saved you from a real big disappointment." He yanked her arm again. ___

____

____

_I could feel my own cheeks burn a little at that. I lunged in the dandy's direction only to find two fellas blocking my path._

_"Outta my way. My fight ain't with you," I told them, but they didn't budge._

_The dandy let out a loud sharp laugh as he turned again. "So, you wanna fight me? Over this little tramp?"_

_"Looks to me like you need someone to teach ya some manners, mister?"_

_"And that someone is you, I suppose."_

_"You bet it is." The words were out of my mouth before I had time to think what I was getting myself into._

_"Do you know who I am, boy?"_

_"Don't matter to me."_

_"The name's Stiles. Parker Stiles."_

_I shrugged, dismissively. "So?" I could feel my hand itching for my gun right then and there._

_"You'll find out. You and me, outside, dawn tomorrow."_

_"I'll be there."_

__

_Since the day Heyes and me had run away from the orphanage I had practiced with my gun every chance I got until I could hit any target. I had even won a few fast-draw contests, so I knew I could compete, and beat, the best. The only thing I had never done was pit my skills against a target that could shoot back._

_Now, I admit that some of the details of that night may be a little hazy, but one thing I can remember real clear was Heyes' reaction when I got back to the stables and told him what I'd agreed to. He had been so afraid for me that all he wanted to do was to saddle our horses and ride outta town right then and there, but I refused to go. We argued for a while, but in the end Heyes knew he wouldn't change my mind. I had never walked away from a fight in my life. And anyways, there was this feeling deep in my gut tellin' me that when I faced Stiles out on that empty street, I would never be the same person again..._

The Kid pulled himself out of his reverie and shivered. The bathwater was stone cold and he hadn't even washed yet. Soaping up the washcloth he began to scrub away several days worth of accumulated sweat. The only thing the soap could not remove was the frown that still creased his brow.

By the time he emerged from the bath house the man on the hotel porch had vanished. Still feeling a little shaken he pushed through the doors of the empty saloon, ordered a whiskey and threw it down his throat. When he signalled for another Frank asked, "Everythin' alright, young fella?" He had not seen this young man drinking at such an early hour before.

"Fine," Curry replied, sourly. 

Frank was a experienced barman and knew when his presence was not wanted. After pouring the refill, he moved away.

Without raising his eyes from his glass Curry murmured, "Sorry, Frank. Got a lot on my mind, is all."

"Kincaid givin' the little lady trouble, huh?" queried Frank.

Kid Curry looked up questioningly, "What?"

"George Kincaid. He sent some of his men over t' the store, didn't he?"

"Sheesh, word sure travels fast."

"You and yer friend had better watch yer step. He was a gunman, y' know."

" _Was_ a gunman?"

Even though they were still the only people present Frank looked left and right, leaned his elbow on the bar and said, confidentially, "That's what I heard, alright. Rumour has it some years back he got shot up real bad by some no-account kid. Almost died, so they say. Changed his name and moved on; to save face, like." 

"You don't happen to know what he changed it from, do ya?"

Frank's head shook. "Can't say I do."

Curry swallowed the remainder of his drink, tossed a coin on the bar and raised a finger to his hat brim. "See ya, Frank." 

Mead's Mercantile and Luxury Goods Emporium had been open for over an hour and Heyes had spent the last half hour of it pacing up and down, glancing occasionally at his pocket watch and, when nobody was looking, stopping to look uneasily out of the window. Initially he had been busy helping Viola make a note of the damaged stock, but as time drifted on he found himself doubting the wisdom of suggesting that Kid Curry seek out someone who was threatening a lady.

When the Kid eventually strode in through the door he greeted Viola with a polite tip of his hat, but the only acknowledgement he gave to his partner was long look and a nod toward the kitchen. Heyes quickly fell into step behind him.

"You sure took your time. I was beginning to wonder if you'd gone and drowned in that bath," Heyes quipped as he closed the kitchen door. He then placed his hands on his hips and sniffed. "Have you been drinking?"

Curry tossed his hat on the table. "Needed one."

"You haven't gone and done something stupid, have you?" 

"No, but I think me bein' here might bring trouble."

"Why?" Heyes asked, warily. 

Curry pulled out a chair and sat down. With his foot he shoved another toward Heyes. "Think you'd better sit."

Heyes sat. 

"Do you remember Cedar Creek? Back in '72 when that fella called me out?"

"Yeah, I remember. It was the first time you..."

"You can say it. The first time I killed a man."

His unease mounting Heyes looked intently at his partner. "Okay, but what's that got to do with the situation here?"

"Turns out the fella I shot back then ain't as dead as we thought he was."

"What!" exclaimed Heyes, then his face cracked into a smile and he began to laugh. "You had me going there for a minute, Jed. Real funny." Relieved, he stood and headed for the door. "Get yourself some sleep."

"I ain't jokin', Heyes. The man I thought I killed, he's here in Pardew. I've seen him."

Brown eyes carefully examined the gunman's stony expression and it didn't take him long to realize that the Kid believed he spoke the truth.

"You've seen him," confirmed Heyes, hoping against hope that he was actually mistaken.

"Yep."

"Did he see you?" 

"No."

Heyes breathed a sigh of relief. "That's alright then. So long as we keep it that way."

A wry smile crossed the Kid's lips. "Ain't likely. That man changed his name from Parker Stiles to George Kincaid."

Heyes' eyes widened. "You sure?"

"As sure as I'm sittin' here. He's a little thinner, greyer maybe, but it's him. I thought I'd seen a ghost at first, that's why I needed that drink."

Raking his hands through his hair Heyes sat down again, heavily this time. "I sure could do with one now!"

"Frank said he changed his name after some kid shot him and ruined his reputation as a gunman. I figure that kid was me."

"Oh, that's just dandy. If he recognizes you..."

Kid Curry nodded solemnly. "He'll want to get even."


	8. Chapter 8

Four hours after Curry's return from the bath house Heyes woke him for their change of shifts. Once he was out of bed (if a little grumpy after so little sleep) and dressed (without a fast-draw-impairing apron), Heyes left him sitting in a chair near the shop door methodically clicking through the chambers of his gun while he ran an errand in town. Last night, while the Kid patrolled outside, he had lain awake staring at the ceiling trying to come up with a way to help Viola out of this mess. Sometime around two a.m. he had had an idea — not much of one, he hated to admit. 

Heyes made his way to the Post Office where he penned two carefully worded telegraphs. The first was to Sheriff Lom Trevors explaining that their arrival in Porterville might be delayed; the second he considered to be a bit of a long shot, but worth a try. The telegrapher seemed an amiable enough fellow but, by way of a little incentive, Heyes still slid a few additional dollars across the counter, which the telegrapher pocketed, instantly agreeing to inform Mister Smith the minute there was a reply to either telegraph.

Supper that evening was a quiet affair, both men were tired and somewhat pensive, which only succeeded in adding to Viola's stress. After they had finished eating and having been aware of the anxious look in her eyes, Heyes took a moment to take her to one side where he whispered some reassuring words in her ear before tenderly kissing her cheek. He then checked his gun, slapped his hat on his head and set off on the first of many patrols throughout the night.

Meanwhile, Curry fetched his rags and gun oil and proceeded to dismantle his Colt on the kitchen table. His concentration was such that he didn't notice Viola watching him, until he looked up to reach for the can of oil.

"Oh, sorry ma'am. I guess I should've asked first. I won't make a mess, I promise."

"It's quite alright, Mister Jones. We need your gun in good working order at the moment."

The blond grinned. "Yes, ma'am. And, seein' as you're on intimate terms with my partner, you'd best start callin' me Thaddeus."

Viola's cheeks flushed bright red. Both horrified and embarrassed at the thought of Joshua boasting to his friend about the kiss they had shared, she faced the sink and vigorously began to pump some water to wash the dishes. 

Curry instantly regretted his flippant remark. He hadn't meant it the way it had sounded. "Let me help with that," he offered. 

When she didn't look at him, he realized what she was thinking and said softly, "I apologise, ma'am. I shouldn't have said that. Joshua's a real private person. He don't discuss his personal business with anyone — includin' me."

Smiling shyly Viola nodded and tossed him a dish towel.

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

For the next two days business continued as usual and there were no unwelcome visits from Kincaid or any of his men. 

Heyes adapted surprisingly well to the night patrols; the silence made it easier for him to think while he tried to come up with a better plan to replace the one rattling around in his brain. Curry on the other hand, found guarding the store very different from the time he had worked security at the Porterville bank, where a more intimidating presence had been required. Here, however, he kept things low key and smiled a lot, so as not to deter any female customers. Like Heyes, he too had spotted the two fellas watching the store but, unlike his partner, he had made sure that they realized why he was there.

On the third day the morning trade was slow and, just as Viola was toying with the idea of closing early for lunch, the bell over the door tinkled. 

Kid Curry, who was leaning on the counter top idly flicking through a trade catalogue, looked up. Immediately, his hand slid toward his gun because standing in the doorway flanked by two other men was George Kincaid. Now that he could see him up close he was certain that this was none other than Parker Stiles. 

Kincaid tipped his hat with mock civility. "Good mornin' Viola, darlin'."

"We're closed," Viola snapped. 

Casting a brief glance over his shoulder, Kincaid frowned. "Says 'open' on the door."

Curry coolly stepped out from behind the counter. "If Miss Mead says we're closed, then we're closed." 

Kincaid didn't give him a second glance.

"What do you want?" asked Viola.

"Well now, I heard you'd gotten yourself yet another fancy man so I figured I'd come and take a look for myself. See if you'd done any better than the last one." He flicked an brief appraising eye over the blond. "Damnation, Viola! You may be plain-lookin' but you really should try to aim a bit higher than these cowpokes when it comes to choosing a beau."

Kid Curry's eyes hardened. "If you ain't here to do anythin' 'cept insult the lady, I suggest you leave."

At last Kincaid gave Kid his full attention and a hint of confusion showed in his eyes.

"Do I know you, _boy_?"

Curry didn't speak, he just hooked his thumbs over the buckle of his gun belt. 

"What's your name?"

"Jones."

Kincaid's eyes narrowed for a moment as he tried to recall where he had seen the blond, blue-eyed, man before. When it finally came to him it was like being hit between the eyes with a slug from a .45. 

"YOU!" he thundered, his eyes now ablaze and his finger pointing angrily. 

Startled at their boss's reaction, one of the other men asked hesitantly, "You want us to wallop him good, boss?"

"No!" Kincaid flung over his shoulder. "Go get Ramos." 

The man immediately hastened up the street toward the hotel.

With no small effort Kincaid managed to compose himself. "I've been waiting for you to cross my path again, _boy_. We've got unfinished business, you and me."

"We have? Thought I settled it."

"Like hell you did! And anyway, I don't reckon it was your bullet that near killed me. Nobody can draw that fast. That bullet came from the fella you had hid in the alley."

The blond head shook. "No it didn't, but keep on tellin' yourself that if it makes ya feel better."

"I won't feel better 'til I put _you_ in the ground."

From the way he had addressed Miss Mead it was obvious that Stiles had not changed his attitude to the fairer sex, and a man who abused women or children was, in Kid Curry's opinion, one of the lowest creatures on God's good earth. However, regardless of the circumstances he could already hear, word for word, what Heyes would say, no _yell_ at him: _"You know what Lom Trevors said, and what the Governor said. They both said stay outta trouble!"_ And, in spite of the fact that this was most definitely 'trouble' he was still going to see it finished. With more than a hint of steel in his eyes he addressed Kincaid. 

"Sounds like you're callin' me out. Again." 

"Damn right I am!"

Tightly wringing her apron in her hands Viola implored, "This really isn't necessary, Mister Jones, please don't—"

"Shut up!" snarled Kincaid. "Females should stay outta things that don't concern them." 

Curry inclined his head toward Viola and said politely, "Ma'am." Then, with a nod toward the door, "After you, Mister Stiles."

Kincaid's eyes blazed. The fact that his name had once been Parker Stiles was something he wanted to keep to himself. He addressed his remaining man. "You. Follow me. And make sure that 'no-good' don't shoot me in the back."

Her eyes wide with shock Viola watched them walk out into the street. 

The very moment they were gone, the door to the hallway opened fully to reveal an aghast Willard Whipple. For once he had been grateful that Miss Mead had assigned him to the stockroom; it had meant he could creep out and peer through the gap in the door without risking another beating. He just hoped that nothing bad was going to happen to Mister Jones.

"Quick, Willard, run over to the sheriff's office and tell him what's happening. I'll wake Mister Smith."

His long apron flapping about his legs Willard took to his heels and ran while Viola, overwhelmed by the urgency of the situation, boldly opened the office door. "Joshua! Wake up." 

Heyes' eyes blinked sleepily but one look at Viola's face and he was fully awake. 

"You have to do something," she cried. "It's Thaddeus, he's..."

The mention of his partner's name was enough. Without even considering there was a lady present Heyes, clad only in his long johns, jumped out of bed and began pulling on his jeans, closely followed by his shirt. Cursing under his breath he tugged at his uncooperative boots.

"...he's gone out into the street!" 

"Who with, Kincaid?" He didn't know why he felt the need to ask. 

His boots now firmly on the correct feet, Heyes swiftly buckled on his gun belt. He drew the Schofield, cracked it open and added a bullet to the empty sixth chamber. 

"Yes. Mister Kincaid seemed very upset with Thaddeus. I've sent Willard for the sheriff. I didn't know what else to do."

"You did fine."

"You've got to stop him, Joshua. He's going to get himself killed!" Viola cried as Heyes sped out the door.

Having almost been pulled clean out of his chair by Willard, Sheriff Levine appeared in his office doorway in time to see Curry and Kincaid come to a halt in the middle of the street. The rest of the town's inhabitants had seen them too and, sensing trouble, were vacating the space as rapidly as possible. 

Heyes stood on the boardwalk and looked carefully up and down the street. It was obvious that word was spreading. Shoppers and shopkeepers alike either crowded in doorways or peered anxiously through hastily half-shuttered windows. Even Frank stood outside the saloon's swing doors polishing the always present glass in his hand. The former outlaw leader's quick eyes also perused the rooftops, as he tried to determine where Kincaid's men may be stationed. In particular, he was looking for the mean-looking hombre, but the gunman was nowhere to be seen. 

Sheriff Levine ambled toward the two men. "What's goin' on here, George?" he asked.

"Stay outta this, Sherman. I got something needs taking care of."

"Can't we sort this out in my office, nice and peaceable?"

"I've been waiting a long time for this. Best thing you can do is go see the undertaker and tell him to start making a coffin." Kincaid sneered at Kid Curry. "He's gonna need one."

"I'll be watchin' real close, George," warned Levine. He turned to Curry. "That goes for you too, Jones." Then, with a shake of his head he walked back to the relative safety of the boardwalk and leant up against a post. He'd been a lawman long enough to know when some things were best left to take their course.

In the meantime Heyes became aware of the light sound of Viola's footsteps as she cautiously emerged from the store. "Go back inside," he urged, his attention still fixed on the scene in front of him. "It isn't safe out here. Bullets bounce and I don't want you caught by a ricochet when the shooting starts." 

Knowing full well that the Kid's aim was as good now as it was eleven years ago and that one bullet was all that would be needed, Heyes was on high alert should Kincaid's men erupt with a volley of gunfire when things didn't go their boss's way. Still gripping his Schofield firmly in his right hand, he reached back with his left to ensure Viola was safely tucked behind him when a shuffle of footsteps and a muffled squeal made him spin round to see the moustachioed hombre with his hand firmly placed across Viola's mouth and a long-barrel Army Colt levelled at her head.

Heyes' eyes became dark and dangerous. "Let her go." 

Kincaid's gunman, Ramos, grinned as he shook his head. "A leettel, how you say, insurance. I make sure you don' shoot Señor Kincaid before he keel your amigo. Drop your peestol." 

"She's got nothing to do with this."

"Drop eet!"

There was a loud clatter as Heyes dropped his gun only to see it kicked off the boardwalk into the dirt. Instead of raising his hands he took a threatening step forward.

Viola squealed again as Ramos cocked his pistol and smiled. "Don' you try anytheen'." He nodded toward the street. "Now, turn aroun'. We watch."

Heyes ground his teeth, raised both hands in the air and turned stiffly to face the street. He was already tense. He hated the waiting part of a showdown; it always made his heart race and his mouth dry. And although he had witnessed the speed at which the Kid could draw and fire so many times over the years, it never made the waiting or the watching any easier.

Kincaid took his time backing up several paces. This day was well overdue and he was determined to enjoy every second of his revenge. He straightened his hat, feeling how the sweat from his brow was dampening the brim; there was also a trickle running down his spine. It was a hot day. Even so, he didn't usually sweat this much. Maybe he was a little keyed up, but that would only make him sharp. And besides, there was no way this man Jones would beat him to the draw again. 

As usual, Kid Curry adopted a relaxed stance. His heart wasn't beating nearly as hard as his cousin's and he ran the moist tip of his tongue along his bottom lip while he waited for Kincaid to settle. Neither the heat nor the blazing sun bothered him. In fact, the sun's high position was something Curry was actually thankful for. Having walked straight out of the store he wasn't wearing a hat and, had he been standing on that very spot an hour or two earlier, the sun would have been over Kincaid's right shoulder and shining directly into his eyes. 

The tension was palpable as the town of Pardew held its breath.

"Did you _want_ another shot at me," said Curry, "or are ya gonna stand there all day thinkin' about it."

When this didn't elicit a response the Kid sighed and made an infinitesimal move to his left. That was enough to provoke Kincaid into reaching for his gun but, once again, Kid Curry was faster. This time, however, the bullet from the blond's Colt found his adversary's wrist and blew a sizeable hole in that, rather than in his chest. The impact sent George Kincaid's partly-drawn gun skittering across the street. Stunned at being bested yet again he stared at the mess of blood and bone which used to be his wrist and, clasping it tightly to his body, dropped to his knees.

Several of Kincaid's men ran forward to assist their boss and Heyes felt as if he could finally breath out when they didn't draw their guns. He assumed the sheriff's watchful eye had acted as a deterrent. There was, however, still the matter of the man holding Viola hostage behind him. He had no idea if the gunman would let her go or whether he had been ordered to hurt her, regardless of the outcome. He flung a desperate glance at his own firearm lying a few feet away and was contemplating making a dive for it when there was a dull clang behind him and he spun round in time to see Ramos hit the boardwalk.

Willard Whipple gripped the handle of the heavy iron skillet with both hands and stared at the motionless figure at his feet. Nobody had noticed him exit the sheriff's office, run along behind the buildings and cross the street further down before entering the mercantile through the back door. Seeing Miss Mead held at gunpoint through the front window he had made a point of choosing the heaviest object he could lay his hands on as he passed through the store.

The instant she was free the terrified woman ran into Heyes arms where she tearfully buried her face into his shoulder. "It's okay, now. You're alright," he murmured, holding her close while still keeping a furtive eye on the street.

Kid Curry rolled the smoking Colt cleanly back into its holster. Not feeling the need to watch a beaten man bleed, with a cold detachment he only displayed in a gunfight, he turned away. 

Suddenly, there was a collective shout. Kincaid now lay on his back clutching at his chest and apparently struggling to breathe. Despite being sure that he had only fired one shot, the Kid still found himself looking him over for a second bullet wound. When he looked up the sheriff was marching purposefully toward him.

"Somebody go fetch Doc Greenberg," ordered Sheriff Levine.

"You saw what happened, Sheriff. He drew first. I hit him in the arm," affirmed Curry.

"Yeah, I seen it. Real fancy shootin', Jones. But that don't explain why he looks like he's done for."

Alarmed at this unexpected development Hannibal Heyes found himself in an unusual situation: choosing whether he should stay and comfort the lady or go and support his partner.

"Go get some rope and tie this fella up," he ordered sharply, pointing to Willard as if he was giving instructions to a lowly gang member. Willard ran and was quickly back from the store with a length of rope. "Hands behind his back. Make it good and tight." 

Having cast a critical eye over the knots as the still unconscious man's hands were bound, Heyes now eased Viola away from his chest. As he held her at arm's length he made sure to soften his tone. 

"Viola, sweetheart, you're safe. Will is gonna take you inside now, where it's cooler. I'm sorry to do this but I must go and help Thaddeus. You understand, don't you?" Viola nodded — from the very first day she had sensed they had a strong bond. 

Heyes could still feel the sensation of Viola's delicate hands gripping his shirt front and it was with no small measure of guilt that he gently steered her toward a slightly bewildered Willard. "Look after her, Will. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Bending down to pick up his Schofield he set off at a jog and seconds later Curry was aware of a familiar presence next to him. 

"Must be sick," the new arrival opined, "or, had a real weak wrist."

"We'll find out as soon as the doc gets here" said the sheriff. "But, right now, I'll be takin' that gun o' yours, Jones."

Curry's eyes met those of his partner expressing a typical unspoken reluctance. Heyes smiled reassuringly, but as he watched him unbuckle his gun belt and place it into the sheriff's outstretched hands, he still felt the need to complain.

"You can see where my partner hit him, Sheriff. Whatever else is happening here, it has nothing to do with him. Oh, and there's something else you should know: while all this was going on, Kincaid had one of his men hold Miss Mead at gunpoint." 

"You don't say." The sheriff was a little sceptical.

"I do say." Heyes pointed to the mercantile. "Right over there."

Sheriff Levine's narrowed eyes followed Heyes' finger. But before the silver tongue could go into further detail a middle-aged, grey-haired man with an impressive moustache and carrying a medical bag, pushed his way through the small crowd and knelt down beside Kincaid. Doctor Geenberg's expression was grave as he watched the shallow rise and fall of the ailing man's chest and checked his pulse. 

"Best get him into my office," he instructed, but before anyone could bend to pick him up George Kincaid gave a loud gasp, breathed out a long drawn-out sigh and lay motionless, his now sightless eyes fixed on the clear blue sky overhead.


	9. Chapter 9

"You can't seriously be considering locking him up!" protested Hannibal Heyes as he placed both hands on the sheriff's desk and stared the lawman square in the eye.

"Calm down, Mister Smith. One of our citizens just died out there in the street. I need to get answers to a few questions afore I decide _anythin'_." Sherman Levine turned his head toward the cells. "How you comin' on with that fella back there, Doc?"

Doctor Greenberg was sitting on the edge of a cot bandaging Ramos' head. "Almost done, Sherman. But this one won't be answering any questions anytime soon. Poor fellow is still out cold. Must have been hit real hard."

"Oh, he was," declared Heyes.

"By you?" asked the sheriff.

"Uh, no. He...uh... got the drop on me when he took Miss Mead hostage," the former outlaw leader admitted, screwing up his face and glancing uncomfortably at his partner. Curry didn't react, he just stared at the floor. In fact, Heyes was doubtful whether he even heard. The high the Kid experienced during a gunfight was fading fast. 

"So, who hit him?"

Before Heyes could answer, the office door opened and Viola entered followed by a reluctant-looking Willard and a deputy. Seeing that she was still visibly shaken, Heyes was quick to show her to a chair. Viola made an effort to sit up straight in her seat, clasped her trembling hands together in her lap and forced a smile at the sheriff.

"Good of you to come over, Miss Mead. Mister Smith was about to tell me how come I've got this here co-ma-tose fella in my jail."

Without hesitation Willard piped up, "It weren't Mister Smith who knocked 'im out, Sheriff, it were me. I hit 'im. I hit 'im real hard. See, I was sore 'fraid he was gonna kill Miss Mead."

"Whatever gave you that idea, son?"

"Most likely the gun he had pointed at her head," said Heyes, sarcastically.

Willard pulled the gunman's pistol from where he had stuffed it into his belt behind his back, and placed it on the desk. "Here's his gun. He dropped it when he went down. I picked it up offa the boardwalk. Real fancy piece, ain't it?"

Sheriff Levine ran his finger up and down the intricately engraved barrel. "Sure is." He held it out to Viola. "This the gun he used?"

"That's the one," confirmed Heyes.

"I wasn't talkin' to you. Miss Mead?"

"I-I don't know, Sheriff, I didn't see it. But if Mister Smith and Willard say that's the one, then that's the one."

"Anybody know who this fella is?" Sheriff Levine was keen to know if it would be worth his while looking through his large file of wanted posters.

"I don't know his name, but I did see him talking to George a couple of times," Doctor Greenberg said as he stepped out of the cell and shut the door with a loud clang. "I'll ask a couple of the boys from the hotel to come over. They will know."

"His name's Ramos." 

All eyes turned to Kid Curry. It was the first time he had spoken since being relieved of his gun. He sat back in his seat and shrugged at their questioning glances. 

"I don't know him. I overheard some men talkin' and it sounded like he was hired to see off the two fellas Miss Mead took on before me and Joshua."

"George Kincaid wouldn't hire a gunman!" Doctor Greenberg was shocked. 

"Well, he did," affirmed Curry. "It's kinda strange though, Doc, seein' as how he was a gunman himself. And his name wasn't George Kincaid, it was Parker Stiles — least it was eleven years ago when I last saw him. He liked to think he was a big man back then too."

"Would that have anythin' to do with you two endin' up out there in the street?" queried the sheriff.

"Some. Stiles came into the store this mornin' to threaten Miss Mead. He didn't like it when I objected but, it was when he realized we'd met before that he called me out. Guess he figured he'd settle the score."

"The score?"

Curry threw a slightly apprehensive glance at Heyes who puffed out his cheeks in a way that said, _well you've started now, might as well go ahead and tell them_.

"Yeah, we had somethin' of a dispute about the way he was treatin' a lady back then too. He called me out and I beat him to the draw. Didn't get such a lucky shot that day though. Hit him in the chest. Left side."

"Sounds like he could be telling the truth, Sherman," said the doctor. "George did have a scar on the left side of his chest. I asked him about it when he took ill with the grippe a couple of years ago. I could see he didn't want to go into detail, but he did say it had almost killed him, and I believed him. A wound like that could have deflated his lung. Maybe left him with a permanent weakness."

"Is that what killed him, Doc?" asked the sheriff. "A lung weakness?"

"It may have contributed some, but I'd say his heart gave out. I didn't get a chance to listen to it, but when I felt his pulse it was very weak."

"So, can I go?" Curry asked.

Sheriff Levine sighed. "Yes, alright. I got nothin' to charge ya with. Half of Pardew saw you beat him fair and square. But, I gotta write a report, so don't go leavin' town today."

Heyes smiled. "Oh, we won't, Sheriff. 'Sides, we're still employed by Miss Mead."

At the mention of her name Viola found her voice again. "I take it my assistant won't face assault charges either, Sheriff? After all, he did save my life."

Willard held his breath.

"You can go too, son. Just don't make a habit of hittin' people over the head, y' hear."

"Yessir, uh... nossir."

"My gun?" Curry got to his feet.

The lawman fished the gun belt out of his top drawer and pushed it across the desk. 

"By the way, Sheriff," said Heyes. "Seeing as he may have caught himself an outlaw, if there's a reward out for Ramos, young Will here will get it, right?"

"If there is one," agreed the sheriff. "So go on, git, the lot of ya." He waved his hands toward the door. "As if I ain't got enough to do writing that report, I gotta whole stack o' flyers to look through now to see if there's any for Ramos and Kincaid, or Stiles, or whatever his doggone name was!" He shook his head in dismay as he grumbled, "Don't know how crooks come by the notion they can get away with usin' an alias."

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

Once outside, Willard wasted no time in heading home at full tilt. He wanted to be the one to explain why he hadn't been home for lunch. Word was known to travel fast in Pardew and his mother would be worried sick if she found out he had been caught up in all this.

By contrast, the two former outlaws together with Viola made their way back to the mercantile at a more leisurely pace. As they crossed the main street Heyes paused and took a long look; it had been under an hour since a man had died there but, apart from a stain in the dust, you would never know anything untoward had taken place. Most towns seemed to have an innate capacity for returning to normal almost instantly; he had seen it several times before and it never ceased to amaze him. 

He was about to catch up to the others when the telegrapher from the Post Office came running toward him, his hand outstretched. "Mister Smith! These came for you a couple of minute ago," the breathless man informed him. Heyes took the proffered envelopes and smiled to himself, pleased to see that his little monetary incentive had paid off. 

Once seated at the kitchen table Heyes opened the envelopes and read their contents, twice. At the Kid's enquiring look he handed one to him, "From Lom. We have to start back to Porterville on Friday."

"Do you really have to go?" asked Viola.

"I'm afraid so. We have an important meeting to go to. We can't miss it."

"What's in the other one?" Curry was puzzled. Lom was a man of few words and it wasn't like him to send two telegraphs. He was also very careful with money, almost to the point of being miserly, whether it be the town's funds or his own.

Folding the envelope Heyes tucked it into his shirt pocket. Feeling both pleased and relieved that his idea looked like it was going to work, he grinned smugly. "You'll see."

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

The rumble of the hooves of six horses and the rattle of four large, iron-rimmed wheels heralded the arrival of Thursday's four-o-clock Butterfield stage. As the stagecoach slowed to a stop Hannibal Heyes pushed himself away from the wall of the Stage Depot and approached the still rocking carriage. He stood to one side as the depot manager opened the door and offered his assistance to two lady travellers as they disembarked. They were followed by a tall, well-dressed man wearing a grey homburg and carrying a large leather satchel. Heyes stepped forward, his right hand outstretched.

"Brubaker! Good to see you again."

"You too, Mister He—, Smith." Chester Brubaker was quick to correct himself. He was not used to calling either of his notorious clients by their aliases. In the two instances he had represented them they had been using their real names.

"I sure am glad you could make it."

"Well, the journey from Junction City isn't an easy one, that's for sure, and I had to rearrange my schedule somewhat but, you did say it was very urgent. What kind of trouble have you and Mister Jones found yourselves in now?"

Having picked up the smart valise that had been unloaded from the boot of the stage Heyes steered Brubaker along the boardwalk. "Oh, it's not us that are in trouble this time. It's a lady. I'll let her explain. Here we are." Heyes indicated the door of Mead's Mercantile and Luxury Goods Emporium and they stepped inside.

From where he sat, still keeping an eye on the store, Kid Curry leapt out of his chair. "Chester! What the devil are _you_ doin' here?" He shook the lawyer's hand warmly.

Brubaker was a little taken aback that the other half of the famous duo appeared to be as much in the dark as he was. "That, I've yet to find out."

Curry looked pointedly at his partner. "Now I know who the other telegraph was from."

"Where's Miss Mead?" asked Heyes.

"She went upstairs. I think she's still a bit shaken. Left her capable assistant in charge." The Kid grinned at Willard standing behind the counter, looking uncomfortable in the heavily starched collar of a brand new shirt.

Heyes showed Brubaker through to the kitchen. "Help yourself to coffee. I'll see if she's up to talking."

Taking the stairs two at a time up to Viola's living quarters Heyes found her sitting in an armchair, looking out of the window and slowly sipping a cup of tea. So as not to startle her he stood in the doorway and almost whispered, "Viola? Are you alright?"

Large blue eyes turned his way. "Oh, Joshua, it's you. I suddenly felt very tired, that's all. I will be back downstairs in a moment, unless Willard—."

"It's not Willard," Heyes interjected before she could begin to fret. "There's somebody here to see you. His name is Chester Brubaker. He's a lawyer — a good one."

"There must be some mistake, Joshua. I haven't sent a letter to anyone called Brubaker."

"There's no mistake. It was me. I sent a telegraph, asking him to come, but he doesn't know the details yet. I thought I'd leave it to you to explain about the store." Heyes held out his hand and smiled gently. "You feel up to coming downstairs to speak to him?"

The cup rattled a little as Viola placed it on the saucer. Standing, she took a deep breath and smoothed the front of her skirt. When she reached the door, Heyes gently tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. "Chester's a real clever fellow. He'll fix this, you'll see."

"I haven't enough money to pay you and Thaddeus as well as a lawyer."

"That's why I had a friend wire him some in advance. A retainer."

"But, I must pay you both your wages!"

"Thaddeus and me only need a few dollars, enough to get us to Porterville. We still have a little money waiting for us there."

"Won't Thaddeus be upset with you, giving away his hard-earned money?"

Heyes' smile almost faltered at the memory of another occasion; one when he hadn't collected his pay. He ran a hand tentatively across his jaw. He could almost feel the bruise still. "Don't you worry," he assured her. "He'll be fine."

After supper, while Viola and Brubaker discussed the legal implications of George Kincaid's demise and how it might affect the ownership of the land, Heyes and Curry packed their saddlebags with as many supplies as they could, all purchased at a considerable discount from the mercantile. 

The following morning Viola ate very little at breakfast. She could barely trust herself to speak either, so upset was she at the thought of them leaving. She had become accustomed to their strong presence. And then there was Joshua... Falling for him had been so easy. He cared for her too, she was sure of it and, although she had enjoyed his kisses, she felt that something was holding him back. 

Heyes mostly toyed with his food. He was sorry to be leaving too; he had become very fond of Viola. Getting involved with a woman was something he usually tried to avoid, but hadn't always succeeded. This time, however, it had felt a little different. Right, maybe? But, until he was no longer a wanted man, he could not allow himself to think about settling down.

Kid Curry, on the other hand, ate everything on his plate. Although he felt bad for Heyes, he could not help but be relieved to be moving on. Regardless of the fact that his bullet had not caused a lethal wound, from some of the looks that had been aimed his way over the past two days he figured many of the townsfolk still blamed him for George Kincaid's death. And they would no doubt keep on blaming him when the arrival of the railroad was delayed.

A little later, while the Kid ambled over to the livery with instructions to take his time saddling up their horses, Heyes lingered in the store with Viola.

"Now, are you sure you don't want us to put your office back to how it was?" he asked, dumping their coats, saddlebags and bedrolls on the polished counter.

Viola shook her head. "Willard and I will manage." She pressed her hands against the front of his navy blue shirt. "But I'd rather be doing it with you."

Heyes drew in a shuddering breath and sighed. "I'd stay if I could, but..."

"I know. Important business." Viola managed a sad smile.

"You have no idea how important. It could change our lives."

"For the better, I hope."

Nodding, Heyes covered her hands with his. "Much better."

"If it does, will you come back?"

"I don't want to make a promise I may not be able to keep, Viola. I wish I could."

Through the window Heyes caught sight of the Kid already leading their saddled horses across the street. Aware that it would not be long before they rode out, he pulled Viola into his arms and kissed her. When their lips parted Viola glanced at the window.

"Thaddeus is waiting," she said.

Closing his eyes, Heyes held her for a few seconds longer before hastily gathering up their belongings and making his way out onto the boardwalk. While stowing his gear and checking his cinch, he found himself uncharacteristically musing about his future. Pardew might be a pretty good place to settle once they got their amnesty and, although he knew that with his silver tongue he could sell ice to an Eskimo, he could never consider a career as a shopkeeper. A saloon, maybe even a casino, now that would be more his style. After all, he and the Kid had already proved that they were good at saloon managing.

"Morning, Smith, Jones," said a familiar voice. "You gentlemen leaving already?"

Curry grinned. "It's a long ride to Wyoming."

"You remember how to get a message to us, don't you?" Heyes wanted to make sure Chester Brubaker could let them know how things turned out. 

"I remember."

"We're relying on you."

"Rest assured Mister Smith, I will do my very best for Miss Mead." 

Once all the final goodbyes had been said and Heyes and Curry had swung themselves into their saddles, Viola, who had stood gripping the hitching rail with both hands and trying to keep her threatening tears in check, gasped and dipped into the pocket of her apron. 

"Joshua, I almost forgot!" She handed him an envelope which he swiftly pocketed.

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

Heyes and Curry had been riding north for barely two miles when the Kid eased his horse back to a walk and looked over at his dark-haired partner.

"Was that our wages?" he asked with a frown.

"Hmmm?" Heyes kept his eyes on the trail ahead.

"That envelope Miss Mead gave ya. Was that our wages?"

"Mmmhmmm."

"Why didn't she pay us last night, after supper?"

"Maybe she felt embarrassed giving us money in front of Chester," Heyes offered by way of explanation.

"Or, this mornin' at breakfast?"

Heyes shrugged. "Dunno."

Catching the slightly shifty look on Heyes' face, Curry eyed him suspiciously. "Heyes?"

"Nice day for a ride, dontcha think? Sunny, but not too hot. We should easily make it to the next town before sundown; get us a room, a steak supper, maybe even have time for a few hands of poker."

Now convinced that his cousin was being evasive, alarm bells began to ring in the Kid's head. 

"Heyes?"

"If we make good time like that all the way, we could even get to Porterville a day or two early. Just picture the look on Lom's face if —"

" _Heyes!_ "

Aware that flashing his best smile didn't always work where the Kid was concerned, Heyes figured it was worth a try. 

"Now don't go getting proddy, Kid, but there's something you should know..."


End file.
